Almost Home
by Le Queen of Morons
Summary: An intruder brings problems to the Seireitei, but is she the cause, or the solution? Takes place 10 years before the Anime/Manga.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a long and trying day for Byakuya Kuchiki.

Outside of the usual workload involved in running a squad of the Gotei 13, and his duties intrinsic with his position as head of one of the four most powerful noble houses of the Soul Society, there was also a strong feeling of wrongness running just under the surface of events. While there had been no reports of anything out of the ordinary going on, the current was still there, and it did nothing but add to the exhaustion weighing so heavily upon his strong shoulders. There was no action to take, so while unease still lurked deep beneath his unflappable surface, he dismissed the feeling as nothing more than a strange side effect of over-work.

This day, the captain had finally finished the last of the paperwork stacked high upon his desk and by the time he'd returned to his manor, moonlight softened the already graceful flow of the sculptured garden he had spent so many hours strolling through with his late wife. Starlight glittered delicately within the velvety ebon of the night sky, and the subtle perfume of blooming sakura wrapped the weary man within its gentle embrace.

A world already mystical by mortal standards exerted its enchantment even further upon its denizens by way of nocturnal charm.

Byakuya found himself lost within the memories of that patch of land and the serenity of that patch of time. Tension slipped from his shoulders as he paused on the small arching bridge over one of the tiny ornamental streams. A graceful, refined hand rested upon the smooth surface of the rail. He allowed himself the simple luxury of a deep breath of cool night air.

Thin, dark brows furrowed at a whisper of discord in the ambient reiatsu of the garden. It was almost slight enough to dismiss as a passing glitch, perhaps escaped from the 12th Division, but it was still enough to bother the noble.

Grey eyes blinked, then snapped to a sudden lick of flame appearing out of thin air. The yellow flicker exploded into a raging blaze along a formerly unseen seam in the air.

Energy exploded with the fire, forcing him back a step with surprise.

That blaze separated into a tear, which only ripped itself further open – the blackness beyond disturbingly reminiscent to the inky confines of a garganta just before a Hollow would emerge. However, it felt not like a Hollow – nor like anything within the wide eyed noble's recollection. Wind screamed around the startled shinigami in gale force protest, furious at this defiance of law and nature. It carried within its enraged embrace the slaughtered remnants of the garden and the night.

Cloaked from clear view by tempest and debris, a lone, humanoid figure stepped from the tear.

Moonlight glinted liquidly off of the other's blade as it swung savagely at the black wound. An undeniably feminine broken kiai barely penetrated the roar of the wind.

The touch of her silvery blade healed the storm-bleeding wound. Byakuya's hair and clothing finally settled to their usual perfect fall when the wind abruptly died.

Nighttime peace was as destroyed as the garden - courteousy of the cloaked figure, now knelt, hooded head bowed, amongst the devastation. Her hands, hidden by the long folds of the tattered robe she bore, pressed into the disrupted soil, weapon still held firmly within her grip.

"Who are you?" His velvet voice held a definite undertone of threat in attendance to the question.

The figure slowly raised its head in his direction. He couldn't see her eyes due to the folds of the ragged grey draped over her figure, but he could make out the strong line of her jaw, her frowning lips. A dark coating of blood pierced the smooth white of one cheek. Long spirals of wild red hair escaped the confines of the hood, and swayed idly in the perversely peaceful breeze. Slowly, she stood, cloak opening just enough to offer a hint of course brown fabric over a toned frame. Her blade peeked out of the shelter of clothing, still naked at her side.

No answer, however, issued from that down-turned mouth.

His widened eyes narrowed, and within a second, he stood before the intruder. Silently furious eyes glared down at the shorter woman. "I believe I asked you a question."

Her silvered sword sliced up at him – blocked easily by Senbonsakura. There was no power to the blow, however. Due either to the surprise slightly parting her blushed lips, or a weakness barely visible under her stance. She was harder to read than he had thought at first.

The cloaked female stepped back quickly, and he found his cool gaze met by one of bright emerald sheltered under the hood covering the upper half of her face.

"Beg pardon?" Her voice was rough, oddly graveled, but strong and mocking in its civility.

Byakuya was in no mood for this. "Fine." He struck at her, only to find his blade blocked by her own. "Who are you?" Side step, and two more quick slashes – one deflected, but one connected. It left a long, deep gash through cloth and flesh from elbow to fingertips.

Crimson flowed down the ornamented hilt of her weapon, only to speckle the snow white of his haori as she followed through with her last block. She didn't flinch, but instead continued to watch those icy eyes. "Oh. Diana Kimora. Nice to meet you. And you are?" The words were low, syllables born of a broken and tired throat.

That weariness in her voice did not translate into her movements, however. Muscles hidden by tattered flowing cloth worked to provide a fluid lunge at his midsection, which was easily enough blocked and swatted aside. Bare feet whispered through the disturbed soil of the earth they fought upon as they carried her around in a graceful spin to the side in compliment to his deflection. As she moved, her free arm rose as if to strike with a back-fist – again easily enough avoided, but the liquid sword following the movement was not as easily avoided.

A dignified brow quirked at the glancing blow she landed in his shoulder as he leaned away from her. "Byakuya Kuchiki – Captain of the Sixth Squad of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. What are you doing here?"

Of all the things he would have expected from the whirlwind woman, the wry smirk curled at her lips was the last. "It looks like I'm fighting you, doesn't it?" That damaged voice held a sudden note of flippancy to match the small grin she wore.

His lips thinned. Byakuya had had enough. He began another flash-step, his blade destined for the woman's back, only to connect with – nothing?

He came to an abrupt halt – hair and clothing whipping against his body at the sudden change in velocity.

She was gone. Only the barest hint of reiatsu remained. Skilled storm cloud eyes would have caught a move like shunpo, but she was nowhere to be found – or sensed.

Cold steel pressed to his throat, and heat from her feminine form suddenly permeated through the clothing over his back and shoulders. He remained still, attempting to decipher the strange, subtle changes in her energy.

"Captain Kuchiki," her rough voice whispered in his ear. The breath carrying the words was warm, and brought a tingle to the sensitive skin it caressed. "I don't know why it br-"

Words died at the swell of multiple black-robed parties appearing throughout the garden. The Sixth and Eleventh Divisions had at last arrived.

"Lower your sword," a baritone ordered from their left. The steel point of the speaker's sword pressed warningly to her jugular.

Vibrant green eyes shifted to the bearer – a fellow red-head with concealed tattoos across his brow. Her blade was pulled away from the captain's neck, and her hands rose in surrender. Impossibly, the weapon within her grasp vanished as if it hadn't been there to begin with.

Murmurs, gasps of surprise, followed in its wake.

The bleeding noble turned in time to see that same soul reaper twist the intruder's arms behind her back, then bind them at the wrists – heedless of the blood still welling from the gash separating skin on the right forearm.

Silently, and with refined grace, the captain gripped the hood concealing the face, and pulled the fabric down to rest over the back of her neck.

Now that she was exposed, he could see more clearly old, dried red mixed with fresh from a wound hidden by the fiery curls cascading down into the collar of the cloak.

That bloodstained face gazed up at him – a paradox of defiance and resignation painted over her features.

The noble frowned, then looked past her to the man now holding her with a large, powerful hand. Captain Kuchiki had been keeping an eye on this one for some time, now. "Renji Abarai, is it?"

"Ah," the tattooed man straightened slightly, narrow eyes widening at being addressed by name. "Yes, sir."

Kuchiki nodded impartially, but kept his gaze intently on the officer of the 11th. "Bring her to the prison, and be sure she is processed properly."

"Yes, sir." Abarai bowed, then roughly pulled the woman away.

Byakuya contemplatively watched them stride out of view, before he allowed himself to be escorted to the Fourth for treatment of his wound.

* * *

**FINALLY, I think I'm happy with the way this chapter turned out. I've figured out why this whole fic has seemed off to me. I'm working my way through it and improving upon it.**


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, Diana found herself contemplating nondescript stone wall of the inside of a prison cell.

Again.

Sure, it was in another world, but it was the second time she's been presented with that particular kind of view in as many months. Or was it weeks? The white-clad woman wasn't entirely sure.

Time wasn't easy to keep track of when one is so rarely sure of exactly where or when you are. The wanderer had given up on seriously keeping tabs on days or weeks, then months and years, long ago. Vague estimations of chronological passage seemed upset her more than simple ignorance on the matter.

Whatever.

That stuff always gave her a headache, anyway. Best to take it one sunrise to sunset, moonrise to moonset, at a time. Or whatever happened to make up a day in the world she happened to find herself in right that moment.

At least she knew the language they spoke here. It's always even more difficult to transfer from one world to the next when she couldn't communicate anything with the people whose lives she'd just dropped in on. For the millionth time, the young woman thanked whatever divinity happened to be listening for her bi-lingual upbringing.

She sighed and examined the strange shackles enclosing her wrists – better to concentrate on the immediacy of a situation than contemplations of something so immaterial as time.

The bonds had a strange feel to them. It was as if they cut her off from the world around her somehow, instead of from simple mobility. Her psyche felt muffled, like someone had stuck her spirit in a bag full of cotton balls and then hung it from a hook in the ceiling. The bond to her sword was still there, but she couldn't summon it. A corner of her mind wondered if that was because of what the metal was made of, or if they were somehow bespelled.

They'd taken her clothing (which she wasn't attached to anyway), bathed her, treated her wounds (both pre- and post-Byakuya), dressed her in white prisoners' robes, and left her in this cell, where she finally got some much needed sleep. It wasn't something she'd admit, but right before the tattooed man's blade had pressed against her flesh, she was almost ready to drop the façade of strength she struggled so hard to maintain. Even at full strength, she had the feeling her adversary would have been quite a challenge to go up against. As it was, she had the feeling he was holding something back. It was fairly obvious that this man had an immense amount of power. Di wasn't exactly sure of the type, but she could feel it as easily as the dull ache now throbbing in her arm.

At least she hadn't vomited upon arrival, as had happened in past jumps. There's nothing fun or dignified about puke flying through the air until splattering on anyone and anything that happened to be around. It usually ended up all over the puker herself. Didn't leave a particularly stellar impression on whoever happened to be around, either.

Come to think of it, this particular entrance left a pretty grim impression. Maybe a little physical illness would have afforded a little sympathy. Though from the aloof vibe the stunning warrior had given her, she doubted he was the type of man to give much by way of compassion.

It wasn't all bad, anyway. She was still breathing, after all.

Plus, she had her very own sink and toilet. No need for her to worry about the seat being left up by some inconsiderate roommate. Not to mention a window with a view, and a firm bed. It was very firm, especially considering it was little more than a slab of wood held up by chains, and covered with a thin mat. That's supposed to be good for a person's back, right?

Sure.

"Regular high class joint," she muttered to herself, and gazed up at the patch of blue sky visible through the lone, barred window.

"Accommodations not up to your standards?" A familiar, deep voice enquired from outside of her cell.

The captive turned to face the bars and shot a grin at the tattooed man standing there, tray in hand.

There was something about him that put her at ease, even if he was nothing but formality and cold efficiency at first. It took a little while, but eventually, he'd begun to reflect her own purposely relaxed attitude. His careful, formal accent had begun to wear away at the edges, leaving something a little more earthy; something a little more world-wise and sharp. Humor glinted in those narrow eyes of his.

Humanity. That had to be it. This was a driven man, but this man was also decent and real.

"Oh, it's not that." She lifted her shackled hands – one of which was bandaged. "Can't say as I really go in for the whole bondage look, though."

He rewarded her with a sharp grin of his own. "I'll see if I can find something in pink for you, then." Renji knelt and slid the tray of food through the slot at the bottom of the door.

With a soft snicker she rose, and knelt to retrieve the tray with a soft word of thanks, before he turned to go. Eating with her dominant hand incapacitated proved to be a challenge, but she managed, albeit somewhat clumsily. She somehow doubted manners were of the utmost importance in this particular situation. The food itself wasn't of particularly high quality, but it was better than what she'd been subjected to in the past.

After eating, she spent several hours in solitude, not counting the silent guards outside her door, before anyone else appeared on the other side of the bars.

Di had resorted to counting the cracks in the wall by the window. Someone really needed to do some touch up work in there. What sort of impression did they want their prisoners to have? Oh, that's right. Prisoners' opinions aren't particularly important, are they? How silly of her to think otherwise.

Metal slid against metal when the door slid open. She looked up at the sound from her reclined position on her bunk, shackled hands carefully propped behind her head. A fair brow quirked when the captain she'd crossed blades with before stepped in. Her legs swung over the edge of the cot, and she sat up – curls cascading over her shoulders in a blazing fall over the snowy white. Curious green rose to meet dispassionate grey.

With skill born of decades of practice, he kept his own curiosity from his gaze, his face, his tone. One of the things Byakuya was famous for was his disturbing lack of expression. Of course he felt emotion, far too deeply at times, however he was adept enough at hiding it to such a degree that very few could read it off of him.

He felt this case was no different at the moment, but there was a certain sharpness to the woman's expression that led him to believe he would need to be more careful with his mask around her. Despite the fact she looked to be barely in her twenties, the damage to her voice and the skill with which she fought showed far more experience than what most would credit her with. Thus, his smooth, dry voice asked, "What were you going to say?"

Her brows rose slightly, as she folded her hands primly in her lap. "I'm sorry?"

Storm cloud eyes narrowed, "In the gardens. What were you going to say?"

"Ah," she crossed her right leg over the left at the knee. The pose looked for all the world as if she were conversing in a parlor instead of a prison cell. "I don't know why I was brought here, and I don't mean any harm."

Somehow, that didn't ring quite true to the noble's ears, nor her casual pose to his eyes. He fixed a stony glare upon her. "Then why did you raise your blade?"

She smirked and tilted her head, fiery spirals falling into her bruised face, "You appeared out of nowhere. It was reflex."

Fair enough. Of course she wouldn't know of shunpo, and his was among the fastest in the Soul Society. "Who brought you here? What do you want?" He watched her coldly as the questions flowed smoothly from his lips.

"Man," she shook her head. The dry smirk she wore struck him as weary. "You're an icy one, aren't you? Ok. No one brought me here. My sword cut, and here I am." She sighed, and continued as if reciting a long practiced speech. "What I want is to go home. I doubt this is anywhere near home. I have my doubts about reaching that particular destination any time soon, so I make the best of where I am now – what I have now. Why am I here? That's probably your next question – it usually is. Answer is – I don't know yet. I'm needed somehow, but I have no idea how, yet. Anything else?"

Byakuya very nearly smirked at her dry words. At this point, he wasn't sure if it was bravery or foolishness which prompted her to speak in such a way to her captors, but he tended to lean towards the prior. "Your sword. What did you do with it?"

White and red covered shoulders rose in an eloquently dismissive shrug. "I sheathed it."

A raven brow arched. Stormy eyes met with emerald. "Where?"

Shapely lips curved in a suggestive grin. "That's personal."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You have already been stripped and searched, as I am sure you remember. No blade was found. If you do not answer my question, we will have you examined more…extensively." Captain Kuchiki made sure to include a distinctly menacing undertone to his otherwise cold speech.

She sighed and spread her hands as much as the shackles and bandage would allow. "I don't know. My soul? The astral plane? For all I know, Santa keeps it with his naughty and nice lists when I'm not using it."

Slate eyes narrowed with irritation, though the rest of the handsome face remained cool. "This is no laughing matter."

"It never is." Mischief left the formerly sparkling jewel-like eyes, replaced instead with weary acknowledgment of the situation.

"You act as if you've done this before." Again, he found an odd interest bubbling to the hidden surface of his thoughts.

"Yeah," she blew out a soft breath and slid a fingertip along the edge of the bandage. "That'd probably be because I have."

"I see," the movement of the slender digit tracing the soft line of fabric briefly caught his attention, before he continued again, "and where have you come from?"

"Another world." Her lips curled in a grin at the widening of his eyes. "Yeah, I know." Diana straightened her back, tipping her head back a bit to get a better look at his face. "You're taking this very well. Do you have experience in alternate realities?"

Upon her examination, he banished the stunned expression from his features, and when he spoke again, his voice was again apathetic. "One could say that. Is that your blade's power? To travel between worlds?"

"Heh." The man was fond of his masks. She'll be having some fun with him, if she can manage to stay in one piece this time around. "One of them. Not a favorite power."

There was that mischievous look in those eyes again. He wasn't entirely sure he liked it. On the other hand, Byakuya wasn't entirely sure he _didn't,_ either. "Why not?"

"Side effects, for one." Her mouth curled in a wry smirk as her left hand rested meaningfully over the bandaged right. "That and I don't have a whole lot of control over it."

"Hm." He nodded nearly imperceptivity, before turning for the entrance. He stopped, however, when her uninjured hand caught and held fast to the hem his sleeve. The injured hand touched his – the barest brush of warm skin against binding fabric - as it was still bound to its partner. "…yes?" The Kuchiki shot a deadly glare over his shoulder for the bold move.

She did not wither in the least, but there was the slightest note of entreaty within the verdant depths. "Just…one question. What exactly is this place? Are we even on Earth or…on a planet to begin with?"

Disbelief drained the venom from his gaze. "…you don't know where we are?"

Mutely, she shook her head and let her hand drop from the his, though her brave stare remained.

True, he was the only one in position to ask questions, but such an elementary query did back up her story. There was nothing within her gaze or manner to show deception on her part, so he felt no need to begrudge her this one reply. "You are in the Soul Society. There is an Earth, but it is called the World of the Living here."

A stunned breath whispered from her lips, as she sat further back on the bunk. After a brief pause, her voice hesitantly rose. "…so…this….is an afterlife?"

This time, the corners of his mouth did turn up slightly, although his voice remained dry. "Essentially, yes." Byakuya paused evocatively. "You're taking this quite well. Do you have experience in life after death?" He couldn't resist throwing her words back at her.

Bright eyes blinked, and her chuckle surprised them both. "No. I'm afraid this is a first for me." A pause, then a bemused grin rose. "At least in this life, anyway."

"Mm." Kuchiki completed his journey out of the cell, then. He turned to face her through the bars of the door, and found her gaze. "I will return tomorrow." With that, he left her alone with the silent guards.

* * *

**Chapter two complete. Reviews are very appreciated, if anyone feels like giving feedback. I'll love you forever!**


	3. Chapter 3

Word of the tempest and the strange newcomer brought with it took the Seireitei by storm. By week's end, everyone was talking about it.

Renji found himself fending unwanted questions off left and right. After a while, his temper started to flare whenever anyone tried bringing the subject up. Only those brave, stupid or close to him attempted to pull any tidbits from him. Even if he were inclined to take part in the rumor mill, it had been made clear by the Captain of the Sixth and his own that this was one of those things Thou Shalt Not Gossip About.

Besides, there simply wasn't much he knew about the strange woman. All he actually knew was that she was easy on the eyes and possessed a startlingly easy-going personality. Their conversations where usually limited to exchanged pleasantries and the spare banter thrown in here or there. Nothing particularly deep was covered.

That casual part of her nature was strange in and of itself, especially considering she was a captive. Most prisoners were quite a bit more uptight than she was and with good reason.

Imprisonment was not a pleasant thing. Being powerless was one thing, but being powerless and _controlled_ was quite another. If anything, she seemed used to the incarceration; even it had barely been 5 days since they had locked her up. His place wasn't to question her, though – only see that the guards treated her appropriately and that no one but the various captains of the Thirteen spoke with her on a regular basis. So he kept their conversations light when he did check up on her personally.

This guardianship was thanks to his own captain's view of things. To Zaraki's simplistic way of thinking, since Renji was the one to literally take her into custody, Renji was the one who should oversee her basic needs. The intimidating man had also made some comment about how redheads should stick together, since there aren't a whole lot of them around.

Whatever _that _meant.

Personally, Abarai had the feeling that it was just easier for his captain to assign him to her instead of sifting through candidates for the job.

There was less paperwork involved that way.

Not that Kenpachi bothered to do much paperwork to begin with. He usually just handed it off to Yumichika to do, since the aesthetics obsessed fifth seat was so good at it, and got on with whatever his day consisted of. That was usually either napping or searching for fights amongst the various shinigami in and out of his squad.

That was a bright side to the assignment, at least. Less bitching from Yumichika. The sixth seat smirked at the thought of how grateful Ikkaku should be about that.

All things considered, however, the tattooed shinigami really didn't mind that much. It was an assignment, and at least it got him away from some of the nuttier members of his squad. Plus, he had to admit it _was _pretty amusing whenever he caught his noble rival getting frustrated at the woman's crafty way of circling an unwanted interrogation around on him.

A small part of him thought Kuchiki actually enjoyed the back and forth. The few times he'd been present for one of their exchanges, it had been very much like watching a verbal game of chess. Some information got yielded, some didn't. He had the impression that she honestly knew very little about why she was here, but she still wasn't telling everything she knew. That, of course, opened the door for more of these spoken spars between Captain Kuchiki and the crimson-tressed detainee.

Those ponderings aside, this was the most excitement the Seireitei had seen in a while, and rumor of her forewarning words hinted at a promise of more. Of course, most of the members of his current squad were only excited for more potential fights, but the air of suspended anticipation still hung thick throughout the Seireitei. Everyone felt it, and because of that, there were many theories circulating about what this woman's motives might be. While the proverbial grape vine could provide good information on what's going on beneath the surface of what higher ups wanted the general populous to know, idle ponderings just didn't interest him.

At the moment, he'd dismissed the guards and drew up on the small cell to check on his charge.

Upon arriving, he found her again sitting on the bunk, examining the shackles which still encircled her wrists. He stood at the door and watched the bandaged woman scowl at the cuffs.

"So," he began, smirking at her startled jerk, before meeting her wide eyes which peered at him through a curtain of fiery curls, "have they started talking to you yet?"

Vibrant green vanished briefly in a flutter of fair lashes as she blinked, glanced down at her hands, then glanced uncertainly back to him. "…are they supposed to?"

The smirk grew into a playfully sharp smile, "Would you believe me if I said yes?" He then snickered at her contemplative look.

"Um…probably not, no." She rolled her eyes at his laugh, but an amused grin still quirked her lips, as she stood and took a step towards the barred door. "Anything new going on, Abar-"

The question was cut off by the roar of the fractured cell wall flying in at them. The force of the explosion threw the soul-reaper across the chamber. His unexpected flight stopped only when his back impacted with the stone wall opposite the cell, his yell was lost in the cacophony of the explosion. Dazed, he slid down to slump on the floor.

Sight returned first. Beams of white light slowly danced through clouds of dust and smoke. It took him a moment to realize that all of the illumination was coming from the cell in front of him.

Gradually, he became aware of ringing in his ears as well, and a warm wetness creeping down the back of his neck. Almost lazily, his hand reached back to wipe it away. The sight of crimson coating his palm ripped the shell-shock away. A cough tore itself from his throat in protest against the irritating particles in air, and time rushed back at him.

He hurt. Down to the marrow in his bones, every inch ached with ferocity only blunt force trauma could offer.

Abruptly, he was aware of the shift of rubble somewhere in front of him, along with muffled coughing and a rough, groggy voice murmuring something he couldn't quite catch.

Where the jail's exterior wall once stood now held a jagged hole. Whatever had ripped that breach in stone and mortar had continued to tear the metallic door from its anchors. The twisted remains at his side explained the sharp pain in his shoulder, and the hot red flowing from the slash in his sleeve. It was a miracle that the deformed slag hadn't torn the entire arm off.

"Shit." Renji eyed the offending metal as he hauled himself to his feet. Suddenly, he remembered why he was there in the first place. "Hey! Kimora!"

Another volley of coughs pulled the words from his mouth.

The injured man spat irately to the side, then tried again, "Kimora, you still there?" Carefully, sandaled feet picked their way through the rubble towards the remains of the room in front of him.

"Abarai?" Her rough voice was weak at first, but gained strength after a round of violent coughing of her own. "Yeah. I'm pinned!"

He rounded the corner into the cell littered with chunks of wall, and fogged with the thick dust of obliterated wall.

Sure enough his charge lay awkwardly on her back - right shoulder trapped against the cold floor by what was once her bunk. Tangled curls brushed the wall above her head and shrouded the left half of her face.

The formerly pristine white of the prisoners' robes was now dyed by dust to more of a charcoal. The dirtied cloth darkened even further at the collar by the red which flowed from a shallow gash over her right eye. It matched the stain which spread on the bandage of her injured hand, where the impact had torn that wound open once more. Di had somehow managed to kick free of a fair amount of the rubble, but her bound hands made any further action impossible.

The battered man knelt by her and cleared more of the rubble from around her before he slid his stained hands under the rough wood holding her figure to the floor. With a grunt, he strained against the plank in an attempt to pull it free. Muscles along his forearms stood out in sharp relief with the effort. Blood flow increased from the wound in his shoulder.

"Crap," he muttered, "No good."

It was pinned at a strange angle to her body – the chain holding it in place twisted with part of what had to be the bars of the window. He sat back and eyed the scene, then unsheathed Zabimaru – unable to see any other way out. His umber gaze met her emerald, and then slipped to the cuffs digging into her wrists. "Pull the chain tight," his voice was quiet, though rough, and he his took a solid stance before her.

Her eyes widened, but she spread her fingers and pulled her hands apart as far as the chain between them would allow without comment. Di twisted her body so her right hip pressed uncomfortably into the floor and her back contorted painfully from the stress of the position combined with the pressure of the heavy plank. She then squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head as he brought Zabimaru down between her hands.

The fierce sword split the chain holding the cuffs together with a spark of metal on metal.

Green eyes opened just in time to shoot their gaze with Renji's fierce red-brown one up at the sound of an ominous crackling from the ceiling.

No further words were needed.

The caught woman's free hand pressed to the imprisoning plank's underside and pushed furiously, heedless of the splinters driving their way into the flesh of her palm. Her abused body twisted in an attempt to attain better leverage.

He pulled the tortured wood back at the same time, growling with effort and pain. Just as the first pebbles started to shower them from the crumbling ceiling, the board finally gave with a furious crack under their combined strength.

She pulled herself loose with a rushed sigh. Before she could do more than get to her knees, he thrust a powerful arm around her waist, pulled her body tightly to his and flash stepped out of the chamber.

Seconds later the room collapsed in on itself.

When he came to a stop in the open in time to see the dust rise from the fallen building they had just been in, he found her desperately clinging to the filthy fabric of his shihakusho with white knuckled hands. Blood had completely saturated the bandage on her right arm, and was now slowly soaked into his clothing. Ordinarily bright eyes were more of a forest green with shock and fixated upon the earth now still beneath their feet. One stained cheek pressed tightly against his chest, and her frantic breath cooled the sticky sweat coating his partially exposed chest in short, harsh bursts. Renji could feel her heart pounding through the cloth separating them, and his large hands pressed bracingly into the shuddering muscles of her back instinctively.

Once her shallow, frantic breath finally began to slow and her trembling started to ebb, he gently dislodged her hands from his clothing, and held her by the upper arms. He looked her over with a frown. The death god found her pale, shaken, and as injured as he, but she'd live. "You ok?" He asked this slowly and as clearly as his scratchy throat would allow.

Shakily, she nodded and took a small step back, but didn't remove his grip from her person. She made the mistake of taking a deep breath, only to pay for it immediately when her lungs tried clearing themselves of the soot and dirt inhaled with the air. The force of the hacking pitched her closer to him, but thankfully, it grounded her enough to bring some sense back into her eyes. Hands just as bloodied and dirtied as his lowered from their task of covering the coughing fit as she straightened. "Wh…what was that?" The hoarse voice was little more than a coarse whisper.

He shrugged and let his hands drop from her arms once he was satisfied of her stability. "Shunpo," he answered simply, then looked around.

The red-heads had been the first two to escape from the rubble of the demolished buildings, but there were now others, just as dazed and shaken as they, climbing out of the wreckage. The two structures across from the prison were badly damaged, as was the one to the right of the rubble which once sheltered them. The ground they were standing on was charred, but they felt no lingering heat through the soles of their feet.

Their heads snapped in the direction of yelling from one of the most badly damaged structures. After an exchanged glance, they both sprinted for the sounds, their pains forgotten for the moment, and went to work digging survivors out.

While they toiled through pain and growing weakness, reinforcements from all of the squads joined them in their efforts. Through it all, the fourth faithfully tended to the wounded pulled from the rubble.

However, it wasn't long before their exhausting labor stopped yielding survivors.

Soon, the only victims they found had already breathed their last.

* * *

**Weird positioning is weird. I actually had to break out a pencil and paper to sketch out how Di was lying in order to clarify the picture in my head enough to describe it. *facepalms* If you're enjoying the story, please let me know…reviews are definitely love!**

**These chapters are turning out to be monsters…**


	4. Chapter 4

One would think that saving lives of the society holding one captive would grant one at least a little bit of leniency. One would think a small measure of trust would have been granted. One would think that what amounts to a court marshal would be a bit excessive for any sort of accusations without proof.

Diana quickly found out that when it comes to the Seireitei's ruling body - one would think wrong.

As soon as the wrecked area around the prison had been cleared of survivors and casualties, her exhausted escort had been led off, despite his numerous, rather colorful protests to his desires otherwise.

The re-injured prisoner, however, was hauled off to have new wounds as well as old treated, bathed and again clothed in fresh white robes. Her eleventh division handlers, however, had been far gentler this time, much to her weary surprise.

Upon being bandaged and cleaned, she had been handed off to Captain Kuchiki and an older, slouched man who bore similar robes and a long white beard bound by purple band of fabric instead of being returned to another cell.

While the elderly man appeared benign enough at first glance, she could feel a massive amount of terrifying power simmering just under his sleepy surface. The scars marking his brow also revealed a man who had seen his fair share of combat. He reminded her of a number of teachers she'd studied under over the years.

It brought the familiar sensations of deep seated respect and fear up within her exhausted being. That probably explained the strange tug of familiarity he evoked within her.

Before any words could be exchanged, she found herself lifted from her feet, and her vision shrouded in darkness.

Within the span of a heartbeat, she stood alone in the center of a massive chamber – badly disoriented and struggling to regain her bearing. The young woman fought back the sensations of vulnerability and helplessness.

The marble floor was like a sea of white bone all around her. The two intimidating men who had accompanied her were stationed on either side of the massive door to her back. Before her ranged tiered levels of what appeared to be elongated desks spanning from one end of the room to the other. The broadly stepped furniture angled on each side to surround the nearly empty defendant's area below. Each spot was occupied by a different robed figure. Each of those figures was rendered faceless by obscuring shadows over their features. Bright light shining down upon her from above further blinded her to their identities.

The creative lighting served the dual purpose of rendering those looming over her into anonymity, but also exposing each of her features to the judges – from the ugly bruised cut over her right eye to the snowy folds of the cotton covering her battered skin. Her hands were bound behind her back, and her heart rammed itself anxiously against the inside of her ribcage. Fresh wounds throbbed with each pulse. Crimson began to saturate the bandaging over the worst of the injuries. She bowed her aching head in an attempt to gather her flagging courage.

"Diana Rose Kimora," a commanding voice rang through the chamber and reverberated deeply within her chest.

For a moment, she was afraid of collapsing right there, thanks to the wave of dizziness from the booming voice. If her mind were clearer, she would have wondered just how they knew her full name. With a breath far steadier than she could have hoped for, the captive raised her head. "Yes?" Thankfully, the broken, graveled voice which forced itself through a ruined throat was steady and strong enough to carry.

The man placed in the center of the array of people, immediately in front of and above the young defendant, lifted a hand and snapped his fingers at her reply.

A grainy image of a man perhaps a few years younger than she clad in samurai gear rose from somewhere in the floor, as if projected onto an invisible screen for all to see. From the new injuries and bloodied blade the warrior bore, he was fresh from a battle. His features were of pure Japanese, save for the stunning green of his eyes, which glared from under the fiercely curved helm. Those eyes were terribly like the ones of the white-clad woman standing below.

The living stare blinked when it met that of the man, who was no doubt long dead by now, in the picture. Confused, they went to the one who had summoned the picture. Despite her surname, she was sure she carried no Japanese in her blood. "…I have no idea who that is."

The faceless man's nod was nearly imperceptible, but the rise of his open hand, palm lifted toward the ceiling, was clear enough.

Another image rose alongside the first. It was of the same man, in the same armor, but he was healed, and the helmet was gone – revealing gleaming black hair held back in a traditional topknot. The hint of a good natured grin curved his mouth. In his hands, he displayed his katana. The picture zoomed to focus on the weapon.

It was a piece of art. The blade swept to the elegantly crafted copper guard in a graceful flow of silver ferocity. Germanic runes were carefully etched into the flat of the blade's center from just above the guard and vanished midway to the point. Stones were set just under the guard – the picture showed three, one of vibrant red, one of regal purple and of lively green. Diana already knew the last two stones hidden from the picture intimately – deep blue and vigorous yellow. Below the stones, the hilt was wrapped in rich reddish-brown leather. Finally, the pommel appeared to be a piece of creamy ivory, coated in ornately carved figures reminiscent of Greek pottery.

The young woman took an involuntary step back even as the gasp left her parted lips. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the two pictures, before returning again to the faceless man above her. Diana started when her hands were suddenly freed, and the shackles formerly around her wrists fell with a somehow obscene clatter to the marble floor. The metallic sound they made echoed through the thick silence.

Finally, a deep, commanding voice sounded once more from the nameless ranks above. "Summon your blade."

Diana sensed more than heard the two captains step up to stand at her sides.

They felt different without the shackles containing her own energy within their confines. Far more powerful. Far more intimidating.

The old man held a carefully contained inferno hidden by a deceptively frail exterior to her right. His internal blaze was tempered with palpable wisdom and knowledge, but fed by a stubborn temper she found herself not wanting to see.

Captain Kuchiki stood at her left stood. The noble was like the furious beauty of a springtime gale hidden by a serene winter landscape. Fertility of the awakening earth combined with the wonderful and terrible beauty of life's cycles whispered alluringly just under his cool surface.

Pure sensation flooded her unconscious to so great a degree that her attention began to drift. At the last moment, she clenched hard won discipline down upon the sudden receptive state which attempted to claim her worn being.

Upon regaining control, she nodded mutely and closed her eyes. Bandaged palms faced the ceiling when her hands lifted from her sides, and she sought the elusive stillness of the center deep within her soul.

Golden flecks of brightness shimmered above her outstretched fingers before they solidified in a flash of sunlight. The very same sword as in the picture, at rest in its scabbard of cherry wood, appeared in her hands. Bright green eyes slowly opened and again lifted to the spectators. With an effort, she stilled the exhausted tremble threatening her stance.

"Captain Commander Yamamoto," the voice again boomed, "bring us the katana."

The injured woman startled at a gentle touch to her right elbow. When she turned, the elderly man held his lined hands out before him and locked her wide green gaze with the power behind his slit eyes. There was a note of something else within that power – something she wasn't even sure of seeing due to its subtlety.

Was that reassurance?

At the unspoken demand, she reluctantly set her blade in his waiting hands. Immediately, ice swept through her veins at the loss. Numb with shock and fatigue, she watched as he swept across the floor and up to the speaker.

Her blade lifted from the powerful old hands in a spiral of blue light, only to rest upon the surface of the desk in front of the man in the center.

"Your sword will be safe with us, Diana Kimora. In order to prove your identity, you are ordered to report to the captain of Squad Twelve. If you are who we believe, your weapon will be returned to you. If not, you will be eliminated as a thief, intruder and threat to the Soul Society." The dispassionate voice echoed throughout the chamber – resonant in its finality.

Diana had no idea what Squad Twelve was, nor who exactly they thought she was, but that didn't stop her heart from dropping somewhere south of her stomach.

The older man had returned to her side, and suddenly, she found herself watching his creased palm pass before her face. As the chamber grayed into merciful black, the last thing she felt was strong arms catch her limp body before it collapsed completely to the floor.

* * *

Byakuya had taken it upon himself to deliver the unconscious woman to the Twelfth Division personally. He'd left her in Nemu's care, before returning to his estate to mull over the extensive records his family had been keeping for generations. The elegant shinigami tried not to think about what was in store for the strange young woman. He most expressly did not envy her position.

Thoughts of the current situation, however, made her immediate fate a little easier to forget.

Ordinarily, Central 46 would not have taken such a keen interest in one lone intruder, even if destruction as from earlier in the day followed them. In the past, the very few cases in which an unwelcome guest had appeared, the Gotei 13 was allowed to handle the situation on their own.

What was so special about this particular woman? What connection did she have to the man whose picture they had shown?

To his understanding, it was no more uncommon for families in the world of the living to pass objects down from generation to generation than it was in Soul Society.

While Kimora didn't look Japanese in the least, she and the man shared the same eyes, so he could simply be a distant ancestor. Human genetics weren't something that particularly interested him, but common sense did dictate that the more diluted a nationality's bloodline, the less likely the child would look like said nationality. Odd, however, that she would carry a Japanese name, though bear absolutely nothing of that heritage in her features. Perhaps he was mistaken, but surnames usually only lingered when the family was still very close to the culture a name sprang from. To the best of anyone's knowledge, she was not married. Perhaps adoption?

Regardless, what connection did the mysterious man have to the Soul Society? How did it impact the present circumstances and those involved?

Captain Kuchiki frowned as he ran a slender fingertip along the volumes of records kept in his private study. While he was no expert in human history, he did know the armor the man wore dated at least several hundred years before the present time.

Time was a strange thing in that it ran so differently between the two worlds, he pondered as he selected various journals. Each one was scanned through, but then ultimately replaced on the shelf. At times its passage was faster in the Soul Society, while at others slower.

He brushed those musings aside, when his eye caught something strange in the ancient handwriting of his own ancestor.

There was a storm about fifteen hundred years ago very much like the one which bore this woman. As he read on, he discovered that storm had also brought a guest, just as this one had, but that guest was a ronin – a samurai without a daimyo – originally from Edo. He possessed the same reality traveling power the woman claimed to, and shortly after his arrival, the Soul Society was struck by an attack which had very nearly destroyed the hierarchy of the time.

The annal went on to describe an army of beasts descending upon the shinigami of the time. According to the text, they weren't quite Hollow, but close enough that zanpakto could dispatch most of them just as easily. That army's leaders, however – humanoid demons – were resistant to their blades and kidou. These beings were the ones who had nearly brought their world to its knees, if not for the help of this man, Akito Tanaka. Shortly after the war's end, Tanaka took his leave of the Soul Society, though his ancestor failed to extrapolate on where exactly he went.

With a thoughtful frown, the current Kuchiki brought the journal to his low desk, withdrew paper, brush and ink, then proceeded to record the information he found. He slipped the volume back into its place while the ink dried. Byakuya paused to read over the notes, then added a few more about his observations of his own initial experiences with the green eyed woman, as well as her reactions to the pictures. Once the new ink was adequately dry, he stowed the writing supplies, folded the paper and tucked it in the outer jacket of his shihakusho. The perplexed captain then stood and took his leave of his study – bound for the Captain Commander's office.

* * *

**Chapter 4 - new(ish) and improved.**

**I discovered an interesting little tidbit while doing a little looking around on the vast interwebs to reaffirm some of my understanding of the period of time Byakuya was reasearching. There's a story about 47 Ronin that involves a man called Yoshinaka Kira-Kozukenosuke and Naganori Asano-Takuminokami. I wonder if Tite Kubo borrowed the names for Kira Izuru and Keigo Asano?**

**For those curious about the story itself, you can google "The History of The 47 Ronin", either of the names or Chusingura, which is a play based off of the story.**


	5. Chapter 5

Renji Abarai had been ordered by Captain Unohana of the Fourth Division to take it easy for a few days.

He lasted a grand total of seven hours in his quarters after being released from the fourth. Those had been spent in exhausted sleep. Upon awakening, sprawled unceremoniously over his futon and tangled in the thin sheet, he'd pushed himself up then swept the long crimson of his hair back from his eyes. A bruised hand pressed to the bandaged shoulder at the twinge from movement. He was still banged up, there was no doubt of that, but he'd been through far worse than this.

Unsurprisingly, the events from earlier in the day eclipsed current discomforts. The tattooed man had wanted to stay to help with the cleanup, despite the blood which soaked his torn uniform in varying places, the dizziness of the concussion he was later diagnosed with, and the irritating burn at the back of his throat from everything floating around in the air.

From the look on the former prisoner's eyes, made only brighter by the dirt and blood darkening her grim face, she had wanted to do the same, despite her own wounds. The haunted resolve etched into that bruised countenance had engraved itself into deep his memory. It had bled into his dreams as exhaustion enforced sleep upon an unwilling psyche.

What happened to her?

Last he knew, the battered woman was being flanked by one member of the Fourth, Taro or something (he never could remember the kid's name), and Ikkaku from his own division. She had looked ready to collapse, despite the blistering determination glittering within the jewel like depths of her eyes.

Renji had been whisked off by two medical team members before he could see what had become of her.

He winced slightly when he attempted to pull his hair back into its customary tail, and then gave it up as a bad job. It just wasn't worth the effort. Instead, he would simply have to put up with the stares constantly on him whenever he allowed the crimson to drift about his broad shoulders, and the annoyance of it getting in the way of _everything_ he tried to do.

That door had torn muscle almost completely from the bone, and the jagged edge had cut deeply into the defined tricep under the bronzed skin. It was pretty incredible that the bone itself hadn't broken. Of course, the rescues had done even more damage to the tissue, so he figured there was probably good reason why he was ordered to rest. There were too many in need of healing for his injuries to be completely sealed, so he'd been stabilized, watched for a while, and released when it became evident he wasn't about to croak on them.

Ah well. That didn't change the fact he had questions he wanted answered. What had caused that explosion was right at the top of the list. It was doubtful, but maybe something had been discovered while he was out.

With a frustrated sigh, he pulled the gifted flowered yukata from Yumichika upon attaining his seat over bare, tattoed shoulders, and tied it closed. The effeminate man had said something about it bringing his eyes out when he gave it to the taller shinigami. Renji didn't really care much about what it looked like, honestly. He was grateful for the gift, but he wasn't really paying attention to the words at the time.

He slid the door from his room open, and was about to step out into the utilitarian hallway beyond when he was sent flying backwards by a ball of pink-haired energy. An undignified, "OOF!" resounded upon the contact made with his stomach. When finally he opened his eyes, now spread-eagled on the floor by his sleeping mat, he found himself looking directly into Yachiru's big brown eyes. "Lieutenant Kusajishi?"

"Re-chan said you need rest, Pineapple-head, so you should rest," she propped her chin on her hands, her elbows resting on his chest, where she happened to have made herself comfortable, sitting indian style. A ridiculously innocent gaze fixated itself on his.

Narrow eyes blinked up at the stationary hurricane pinning him to the floor and he tried to think of something that would get her to move with minimum fuss. It wasn't that the little girl was particularly heavy, but he was still extremely sore, and she made up for her lack of weight in unpredictability. The child had the uncanny ability to produce the strangest things from her person at times, and the last thing he needed was to be made up like a geisha due to one of her insane whims. On second thought, that wasn't likely, as she had already pulled that on 'MakiMaki' last week.

It wasn't that he was afraid of her. It was more that he was…_cautious_…around her. There was a difference. Really. So the gears ground even harder in his head.

Food! Yeah, food. That's why he was up. Brilliant!

"Um, yeah," he attempted in his most reasonable voice, "but injured people need to eat too, right? I was just going to get some food."

The girl's face lit up, and her entire body perked like a cat with a mouse in sight, "Candy?"

"Uh, yeah." Damn. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle a sugar-high Yachiru, but he didn't see any way out of it. "Sure. I'll get you some candy if you let me up." Why did he suddenly feel as if he were digging his own grave?

"Ok! Let's go!" Cheerfully enough, she hopped off of him, and led him into the sunlight.

The child lieutenant was mercifully quiet as they walked through Squad Eleven's grounds. Maybe she knew his head was starting to throb and stray sounds had started to send spears of white-hot agony through his frontal lobe. Maybe she just didn't feel like bombarding him with her usual chatter. Whatever the reason, he was at least grateful for the relative silence.

Whenever she was this hushed, however, he always had the disconcerting feeling that she was plotting or about to do something like leap on his back and try steering him by the hair. Thankfully, it didn't take them long to reach the mess-hall. Miraculously enough, it took even less time to get through the line.

Yachiru had tackled Renji with a hug which nearly upended his tray before taking off to wherever her cute little feet carried her. Probably the Kuchiki manor. There were times he almost felt bad for the noble. _Almost_.

He shook his head and cast his gaze over the modest crowd gathered at the tables in groups of twos and threes. After a few moments, he caught sight of the perfectly manicured hand waving at him. Predictably enough, said hand belonged to Yumichika. Next to him, of course, sat Ikkaku.

"Hey, guys," he greeted as he joined them and started in on his food. Renji found himself hungrier than he originally thought he would be. As he ate, the horrible pain within his skull began to dissipate. Finally, he felt his thoughts beginning to clear.

"How are you feeling?" the impeccably kept shinigami asked.

The inked man shrugged, "Sore." A little more than sore, and the other two knew it. "I'll be fine." He paused at Yumichika's knowing nod. "Any word on what happened, yet?"

Madarame shook his gleaming head, then smirked. "Nah, nothin' more than they think it was some kinda bomb."

Abarai rolled his eyes, "Any idiot could come up with that." He crammed a chunk of seasoned beef into his mouth.

"Yeah, no kidding." The third seat smirked and raised his brows suggestively. "Heard something about that pretty little prisoner of yours, though."

"She's not my prisoner, Cue-ball," he grinned sharply at the glare the scrappy man shot him. The red-head had to admit, Ikkaku bating did always make him feel better. "What about her?"

Ikkaku was too busy grumbling obscenities in Renji's direction to answer himself, so Yumichika, who had been silently watching the two with amusement now spoke up, "She was taken to Central 46"

The red-head stared, and slowly lowered his chopsticks. Incredulous surprise warred with anger within his widened eyes. "What? Why?"

She hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, he knew first hand that she saved just as many lives from the devistation as he.

"No idea," the slighter, ebon-haired man arched a dark brow, though made no comment toward the emotions he saw roiling within his friend's expression. Instead, he simply continued, "but apparently Captain Kuchiki and the Captain Commander himself escorted her."

"Damn." Renji shook his head, picked up the chopsticks again, and glared at the remaining food on his plate as if it withheld the answers he really hungered for. "What the hell's going on?"

* * *

By the time Byakuya gained access to Yamamoto's office, he was surprised to find Captain Kyouraku already there, lounging comfortably on a pillow opposite the Captain Commander's desk. Of course, the noble carefully schooled his expression to show no hint of the startlement he felt.

"Evening, Byakuya," the deceptively casual man glanced over and tipped his omnipresent straw hat up a bit with a long handed hand. His grin, however, was as sharp as his eyes.

Impassively, Kuchiki simply nodded, and refused to rise to the bate Shunsui dangled by using his first name. He wasn't here to play games, regardless of how fond the flamboyant shinigami was of them. "Captain Kyouraku, Captain Commander Yamamoto."

"What is it you need, Captain Kuchiki?" His attention was drawn to the eldest, and most powerful, in the room.

"Sir." He withdrew the precisely folded paper and offered it without preamble. "I believe I found some information on the man from Central 46."

Yamamoto nodded and accepted the document from the noble's outstretched hand. Slit eyes flowed smoothly down the elegant writing. "Ah, yes. I remember this well."

A raven brow arched subtly, as cobalt eyes absorbed the subtle expression of nostalgia flowing over the wizened features. "You knew him?"

Yamamoto nodded and handed the paper to Kyouraku before returning his hands to the desk's bare surface. "Yes, as did Shunsui, though he was only a boy at the time."

"Ah, he was a very kind man – tolerated foolish children remarkably well," the Captain of the Eighth slanted a grin at the Captain Commander, who made a sound almost like an abrupt laugh at the back of his throat, before looking down to the script.

"What happened to him?" the noble asked softly.

"I believe he returned to the World of the Living," Yamamoto replied with a shrug.

Byakuya's eyes narrowed slightly, "And the girl's connection?"

"We can't be sure at this point," Shunsui began, casting a glance at the Captain Commander. At his nod, he continued, "but we believe she may be the same soul reincarnated."

Grey eyes blinked, even as a slight frown turned elegant lips down in a perfect curve. "Because of the blade?"

"That among other things. Her eyes, for one. The facts of her American birth, then subsequent Japanese adoption and initial abduction for another." The murmured voice reverberated within the room, despite its relatively quite tone. "Kurotsuchi will find out for certain." Yamamoto paused meaningfully, before he fixed the youngest in the room with a stern look, "However, until further notice, this does not leave this room. Understood?"

Byakuya bowed slightly, "Of course, sir."

Indeed, the influential noble had no intention of discussing this with anyone else, but that did not mean he wouldn't look further into it.

The Captain Commander had said nothing about further research, after all.

* * *

**Ok...this is much better than it was. Yachiru vs Renji is so much fun! XD **


	6. Chapter 6

NOTE: I don't usually like to put notes in the body of the story, but I feel the need to warn those who may not want to see such things that the following chapter contains some potentially disturbing content. No gore or anything like that, but Mayuri is not kind at all to Di. If you'd rather pass, feel free, I won't be offended. If not, read on!

As awareness slowly seeped back into the unconscious captive's body, she registered something flat and very hard beneath her. Cold as dispassionate as Byakuya Kuchiki's gaze seeped through the thin fabric covering her aching back. Darkness still reigned supreme in her little, half-cognizant world.

It took Diana a moment to realize the lack of light was probably because her eyes were still closed. Funny how that happens.

Murmuring softly, still halfway lost in sleep, she drew a hand up to touch her brow – or rather, she tried. Cold leather pressed into the wakening woman's flesh. Bright green eyes flashed open at discovering the bondage – something she regretted doing immediately.

Only inches away where wide, amber eyes bulging from a clownish face. That black and white painted countenance held a grotesque grin of yellowed teeth and was framed by a purple mane. The jumble of features would have been humorous, if not for the calculating arrogance burning deep within that sickening gaze.

"AH!!" Di jerked fiercely at the straps holding her down at wrists, shoulders, waist and ankles in a futile attempt to pull away from the mockery of a man. She accomplished no more than jolting her wounds to life again. She welcomed the pain burning along her nerves as a distraction from the terror hovering over her.

A small corner of her dazed mind suddenly knew without a shadow of a doubt that if she ever got back to her own world, she would _never_ let a clown get within touching distance again. Ever. Hell, even if she wasn't able to return, she'd still give the damn things a wide berth.

"Tsk, is that any way to greet one of, if not the, greatest minds in the Seireitei?" A lilting voice inquired from the grotesque grin. Sharp, somehow amused amber bored into confused, horrified green. The colorless haori the man wore draped over her own white-clad chest and shoulder as he leaned in to examine the emerald of her irises.

Bile rose when the stench of chemicals and oil swept off of his skin to invade her awareness. Gratitude for the lack of food in her stomach swam at the back of her mind.

It took a few attempts to find her voice. "Who _are_ you? What do you think you're doing?" Although the words were defiant, any sort of bravado was long gone from the thin, graveled whisper. While her formidable will would have ordinarily been at the forefront, she found herself struggling with the events of the last day or two. The loss of her sword only added to the excruciating twisting deep within the core of her being.

Those impossibly wide eyes managed to widen further. It was a wonder they didn't pop out. "Oh, where are my manners? I am Mayuri Kurotsuchi, Captain of the 12th Division and Commander of the Shinigami Research Institute." His head tilted slowly, just a little too far to the left, like a skeletal owl eyeing its next meal. "I would think it would be obvious what I was doing, or can't your small mind recall what had transpired before you arrived here?"

She swallowed the urge to vomit, though her hands still unconsiously pulled at the straps. She wanted nothing more than to get this…this…thing away from her. Diana forced herself to breathe deeply, her heart to slow its tempo before speaking again in a stronger murmur. "You're…examining me?"

"Exactly!" He patted her head as one would an obedient dog, and then tilted her chin up with one pale hand when she flinched at the contact. Long, nightmare-esque fingers tipped with halved blue nails brought a penlight up to shine into her eyes. "You're smarter than you look."

The red-head's stomach turned anew, and she cringed. That sudden brightness, however, brought a little more strength to her spirit. "Gee. Thanks a lot." While her voice was still weak, it was finally just a bit more than the breathed tones from before.

Breifly, he flashed the brilliance in both of her eyes before he pulled her left sleeve up and tapped the vein in the crook of her elbow. "Now, now. It's not all that bad." With practiced ease, he slid a gleaming needle into the pulsing vessel. "Just a few pokes here, a few prods there. You've my word nothing improper will happen here. I just need to determine that you are who you say you are."

Somehow, she wasn't particularly soothed by his assurances, but at least she was feeling. "…you couldn't just run my prints against the FBI database?" A brief giddiness surged in her chest at the image of the purposely disfigured captain making any kind of request from a suite behind a desk. Her voice rose slightly in pitch at the fleeting sensation. "Those guys have files on everybody."

He tittered a snicker. "Hardly. Those primitives are vastly overrated. Anyway, they wouldn't have the data I need." Two vials of crimson later, he applied a small bandage to the site of the puncture. Kurotuchi glanced down when his subject moved her head to look at what he did. "I can't have my subject wasting their blood when they don't need to, now can I?" Ignoring her shudder, he drew a circular machine perched on a sliding arm up over her head.

It reminded Kimora of the lights over a dentist's chair, but instead of luminosity, the device emitted an uncomfortable hum which permeated straight through the marrow nestled deep within her bones. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight, only to have them pried open again by the unsettling man's fingers.

"No, no. I need those open. It would be much easier for both of us if you kept them open on your own." He flipped a switch, and every muscle went taught when shockwaves flooded their way through her body. Red blossomed on the fresh bandage on her inner elbow as blood rushed from the tiny, unclosed wound.

After what felt like an eternity, though it was likely only a few minutes, the feeling finally ceased. She was left to gasp and tremble upon the table. "Wh…wh…" The words stuck in her laboring throat.

"What was that?" The sadist supplied with a grotesque glee, "Don't worry, it was only a reishi mapper. The newest model, in fact. You should be proud to be the first one I tried it on." He paused, and then muttered, "The first who one _survived_, anyway." The demented smile widened further as he waved a hand dismissively, "Such frivolous details." His shadow again fell over her as he raked his gaze along her shivering body for physical damage. "The results are generated in a fraction of the time of previous methods, though the process is a little less pleasant, granted. Isn't that interesting?"

She could only stare at the being above her. All she could think of to whisper was, "Holy crap."

"Such language!" He tisked. The sleeve of his haori whispered over her damp brow as he swung the mapper out of her field of view, "So unbecoming of a lady."

The sarcastic reply she wanted to give wasn't forthcoming, but the fierce glare she shot the man more than made up for it.

He only smirked, as if mildly amused, and reached for the overlap where the front of her robes closed. He shot her an exasperated look at her low growl, but proceeded to place suction cups attached to wires to her chest under the fabric. "Now, now, enough of that. I am a man of my word, after all." One sensor was placed on the skin to each side of her sternum. He then positioned two more on the sides of her neck and another duo to her temples. A subtly slimy sensation lingered for several moments in each place his fingers happened to brush.

Diana had the sickening feeling that the word he was referring to wasn't any of the ones he'd given her.

That yellow smile widened again at the apprehensive, questioning look she gave. "You're wondering what's in store for you now, aren't you?"

Still, she couldn't quite formulate a reply. For several moments, she couldn't move, and she wondered if that was her own response to the sudden silence, or if he'd slipped her something while the glorified dentist's light was doing its work. Finally, however, she found the strength to nod.

"Don't you like surprises?" Casually, he pressed fore- and middle fingers of his right hand to her carotid artery and stared at her unblinkingly as he counted the beats which hammered ever faster against the tips. "No?" Again, he tilted his head grotesquely. "Well, I won't keep you in suspense, then."

The cold points of flesh left her neck, and then moved to the unseen machine just out of her field of vision. Next, a click sounded as he flipped an unseen switch.

Crimson edged with black filled her universe. Molten pain raced along each nerve ending. Muscles again corded tightly, and the tortured woman's back arched against the bonds. The straining chest heaved, and bright green eyes stared blindly at the scientist watching with rapt attention as salty tears slid into the sweaty hair which spilled across the cold metal beneath her head.

An eternity of the intense vibration from before would have been preferable to the horrible pain now beating away at every centimeter of her body.

Soon, her system overflowed with adrenalin, and the age old reflex of fight or flight took precedence over everything else. The hoarse screams of agony ripping from her tortured throat were replaced with those of rage.

Survival found her groping for her sword – tendrils of reishi desperately stretched towards the weapon left with Central 46. Her right and grasped at thin air as the rest of her body writhed fiercely against the bonds holding her in place.

The smooth, comforting feel of its hilt was nearly in her desperate palm when suddenly the intense hurt was gone. Cold air hit her sweat and tear saturated face. Slowly, the panting woman opened her eyes, and her breath faltered in her lungs when that hateful visage again loomed over her.

"Hm. Well it appears they were correct." Mayuri almost sounded disappointed. He glanced over his shoulder, "Nemu! Notify the Fourth of their new patient and send a Hell's Butterfly to the captain commander confirming the girl's identity!"

When the soft voice of his lieutenant drifted back in acknowledgement of the order, he again turned to the trembling woman strapped to the table before him. "Come, now," he removed the sensors from her chest, neck and head, "It's not that bad. You are still alive, right?" Again, he reached disconcertingly out of Di's view, and she felt a quick prick in her forearm, just before the lab started to whirl dizzyingly around her.

"You'll be feeling better in no time." His voice warped horribly, before blessed oblivion finally claimed the distressed woman.

* * *

**Gah...poor Di. Mayuri is one of the creepiest characters I've encountered yet, though he is also strangely awesome.**

Next time I'm in a foul mood, I know exactly who I need to write for.


	7. Chapter 7

There was infuriatingly little information on the ancient samurai whose spirit now dwelled within the lovely wanderer whose mystery had invaded first his garden and then his thoughts.

Captain Kuchiki had already absorbed all of the information he could from his family's historical tomes and was hunting through the literary wilderness of the main library the messenger had found him. In precise, clipped tones expected of a shinigami messenger, the young man had informed him of the twelfth captain's findings as well as her admittance into the Fourth. With an abrupt nod, the impossibly calm man replaced the book he had been perusing in vain and set out for the medical division.

Once again, he'd found Captain Kyouraku hovering over the figure slumbering under the pristine sheets of the bed which centered the small recovery room. The noble noted a familiar, ornately decorated hilt resting opposite Kyoraku's twin zanpakto at his side. He couldn't make out the man's expression, as his face was hidden by the ridiculous sakkat he favored, but as soon as Byakuya had stepped up before him, the captain of the 8th spoke up. "Took ya long enough, Byakuya." Mirthful eyes gleamed from under the straw rim.

The younger captain knew better than to dignify the overly casual greeting with a serious response. Instead, he joined the other in watching the unconscious woman. Her reiatsu felt fuzzy and weak, yet somehow brittle at its densest point. Her skin was pallid with the exception of the purpled bruise just over a ginger eye brow. Vibrant spirals of red spread over the pillow, and drifted into the youthful face relaxed in sleep. "What is wrong with her?"

"Drugged." The covered head shook back and forth once. "Kurotuchi had said something about overexposure to kidou." Shunsui swept a fiery curl away from the slumbering woman's eyes with a gentle fingertip, the tender gesture countering the rare undertone of vicious anger to the deep voice. "The fool."

Byakuya was inclined to agree, though he wasn't about to vocalize it. Instead, he opted to extend his reiatsu slightly in feather-light tendrils of power seeking to sooth the ragged edges of hers. Long familiar rage was converted and channeled into the little used motion.

Shunsui arched a brow and glanced up at the younger man, a slow grin tugging at his lips.

Before anything could be said, however, the bandaged woman they watched over groaned softly, and a blurry consciousness slowly filtered into her expression. Bright eyes were glassy when sheltering lids finally parted. Gradually, her vague gaze moved from the empty ceiling and landed weakly on Captain Kuchiki.

Storm cloud eyes widened slightly at the horrified gasp which ripped itself from her lips. The groggy woman clumsily shoved herself back off of the bed with startling speed, and would have fallen to the floor if Shunsui hadn't been there to catch her.

Scarred hands gripped at the pink kimono draped over the man's shoulders, and dizzy green eyes lifted to look into the rich chocolate gaze of the one carefully lifting her into his arms. Strong, yet kind hands lay her back down on the thin mattress.

"Do…" her graveled voice sounded thick in her throat, but once she was again reclining, the perplexed emerald of her eyes began gaining a little more clarity as they swept over Shunsui's slightly rugged visage. "Do I know you?"

The captain smiled down at her and smoothed the tousled curls back relaxingly. "Once upon a time, you did."

Kuchiki had never seen Kyouraku look at a woman quite like the way he was looking at Diana. There was no teasing note in his eyes, nor lust or flirtatiousness. It was more as if he were greeting and caring for a revered old friend than his usual interactions with the fairer gender. The silent shinigami could feel an odd, very old, connection between the two before him.

The young woman obviously could as well, though it was evident from the confused wrinkle of her brow that she didn't understand it. This entire situation must have been achingly confusing for her.

After a few moments, the noble's smooth voice filled the silent void, "Captain Kyouraku, I believe you have something for her."

"Ah, yes." A smile spread over the relaxed face, "How could I have forgotten?" He drew her cherry-wood sheathed sword from its place opposite his dual zanpakto and gently placed it across the exhausted woman's toned stomach.

Bright green eyes closed and relief washed over her countenance. The hand Kuchiki had sliced pressed over the smooth wood of the scabbard. Both men watched intently as the weapon slowly dissipated until the limp hand rested upon the firm torso. "Thank you." She rested for several moments, and Byakuya was beginning to wonder if she'd drifted off. He was just about to suggest they leave when she again opened her eyes with an effort. This time, she actually saw him for who he was. A weak smile attempted to curl her lips, perhaps in apology, but she met his gaze squarely. Underlying strength twined through her voice was almost outshone by the lingering slur of words. "May I ask a question?"

The nobleman nodded, even as Shunsui placed a large, gentle hand to her back to assist her into a sitting position. That steadying hand remained there as support her when the muscles in her back buckled for a moment, just before she brought control back to them.

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, just shy of touching the purpled bruise. After the vertigo finally passed, she slowly lifted her head, and looked between the two captains. "Is Renji Abarai alright? He was injured badly when last I saw him."

This time, it was Shunsui who answered, "He is. Captain Unohana told me that he was treated and sent home. He's been ordered on leave until his injuries have healed."

The young woman sighed with relief and nodded, then cringed. Trembling hands to her eyes with a low groan. Warmth and gentle pressure traveled soothingly along her spine under the Captain of the Eight's palm. "Am I hurt?"

As if the question summoned her, Retsu Unohana herself glided into the room.

"You are, but your injuries are healing nicely," she answered softly, and drew the younger woman's hands away from her face, then smiled softly at the pinched look on the younger's face. Firm fingers delicately prodded at her patient's neck, and then tilted her head up slightly to gauge pupil size amongst brilliant irises. As expected, the black was still slightly dilated, and focus kept slipping when Kimora's attention wavered slightly. "However, you are still feeling the effects of the drug Captain Kurotuchi dosed you with before he released you to our care." The regal woman glanced up to her fellow captains, "Are you finished, for now? My patient needs her sleep."

Byakuya nodded. Even he knew not to argue with the Captain of the Fourth. It was common sense, of course. Combine mastery over the medical arts with a formidable personality, and one is left with a person most definitely _not_ to be trifled with. "We are. I thank you for notifying me of her condition." He watched as Shunsui smoothly lowered the pale young woman down to the bed again, and then pulled a sheet further up over her worn figure.

"Of course. Now, if you'll excuse us…" The unassuming captain favored the two men with a benignly terrifying smile, signaling the tactical retreat on their parts.

* * *

With each day, Renji Abarai found himself recovering a little more. One sunny afternoon a week after the initial explosion, he had been summoned to the Fourth for an appointment to ascertain the state of his injuries. While he wasn't battle ready in the least, his arm and other injuries had healed up enough to allow for work in the office.

Oh, joy. Oh, rapture. Oh, paperwork. He _hated_ paperwork. He supposed it was better than sitting around with little more to do than stare at the scenery, though. Absently, the red-haired reaper rotated the stiff shoulder as he stepped into the cobbled street from the building he was leaving.

"Abarai!" A rough feminine voice behind and to his left interrupted his irritated musings.

Startled, he glanced over his shoulder.

The red-haired former prisoner leaned casually against the wall of the building he had just left. He must have passed right by her without realizing it. She looked far better than the last time he'd seen her – the pallor from before had been replaced with the soft glow of vitality, the injury over her eye had faded to a subtle hint of green against soft peach skin, and a relieved grin curved her blushed lips. Renji noted the light kimono she now wore was a deep shade of blue, instead of the white he'd grown used to seeing her in. A corner of his mind commented how the darker colors seemed to suite her far better than snowy white.

"Kimora," he replied, his own face lighting with a smirk of his own as he strode over. "Still in one piece, I see. Captain Kurotuchi didn't take you apart after all, huh?"

She shuddered, "It felt like he was trying to." Her hands moved uneasily over the fabric covering her arms at the unspoken memory. The young woman straightened when he came to a halt beside her. "Good to see _you're_ in one piece. Back to work yet?"

"Tomorrow and only office duty at that." He nodded at her cringe, then shrugged. "Better than nothing, I guess."

"True enough," she conceded. "You don't strike me as the office jockey type." Her mischievous grin reflected in her eyes. "Though I'm sure there're quite a few office girls that'd fall all over themselves for a shot at a date with you."

A flush rose to his cheeks, and he chuckled slightly, "Eh…not in the 11th. Not many girls in the squad." He paused at the realization, "Only one, actually, and the captain would take my bones for stew if I tried anything with her." Not that he'd want to. He preferred his women to be little more…mature.

She raised a brow, "…oh? How does that work? I didn't think the divisions were founded on gender lines."

"Well," he began, then glanced around, noting the light traffic. On the off chance something happened, he didn't want to be in the way of the relief division's response. "Look, this might get lengthy. You wanna find somewhere we can talk alone for a while?"

She paused, then nodded. "I can't leave these grounds, though. It was a…request…from Captain Unohana. It might be best if I avoided any more trouble for a little while." Her shoulders rose and fell in a slight shrug elegant enough to have been executed by a noble.

Odd. He'd assumed she'd been a fellow street-rat, judging by their jailhouse conversations and how she'd handled herself up to that point. He brushed the speculation aside and gestured for her to follow him, "'Sokay, I know a place."

An hour's time found them sharing a bench in an out of the way garden on the Fourth's grounds. He'd explained the structure of the different squads and the properties of each, and watched as she digested that new information.

"So, this place _is_ essentially run like a military, right?" At his nod, she mmed deeply in her throat, and looked thoughtfully to the lovely spread of flowering plants before them. "I thought so."

He leaned back with his hands pressed into the rough stone underneath them both. Renji couldn't deny his curiosity about her, and now seemed as good a time as any to sate some of it. "Where you in a military before you came here?"

"Me?" She laughed and shook her head. "No, not at all. The last world was pretty war torn, but I was with the rebels – mostly just guerilla tactics. You know, set traps, hide, strike. Nothing like what you do here. Most of the other wars were too disorganized to count for much, and I was never around long enough to officially join any militia for the more sophisticated conflicts." She smirked at his contemplative expression and raised her gaze to the puffy white clouds drifting through the blue sky. "I don't think I'd do that well as a soldier, anyway. I've spent way too much time solo to follow orders for very long."

Renji shrugged, glancing from her to the heavens. "It ain't that bad. I thought the same thing at first. Being a stray from the nasty part of the Rukongai does that to a person. Once you get a goal in mind, though, the orders are only the means to an end."

The braid trailing down her back shifted with a whisper against the soft fabric of her kimono when Diana tilted her head. "Rough childhood?"

He felt her curious gaze again on him, and met it steadily with his own. "You could say that. No parents. Just a rag-tag gang of kids." His lips turned down in a frown, a certain woman drifting to the surface thoughts. Thirty years of none communication, and his heart still twinged when he thought of her. The garnet of his gaze turned to the garden.

The woman currently at his side straightened a little at the sadness which suddenly flickered over his face. A calloused hand pressed to the back of his, prompting him again to turn to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to open any old wounds."

He shook his head and feigned a laugh. It sounded feeble, even to his ears. "Nah, don't worry about it. What about you?"

"Heh…the family I was born into had enough to provide luxuries – way too much of them. They just had no heart." She brushed a few curls escaped from the thick braid from her eyes. "I was adopted by my sensei when I was eight, after my father was arrested and my mother gave me up."

Abarai paused and examined her face closely. There didn't seem to be any pain in those jewel like eyes, and she seemed relaxed enough. "…why was your father arrested?"

"Fraud and embezzlement. There were a few other things, but they're not really worth mentioning," she shrugged his wary look off just a little too easily.

"…right." He narrowed his eyes; those things 'not worth mentioning' were usually far more important than the ones that supposedly where. It felt wrong to press for details, so he asked the next logical question. "But why did your mom give you up after that? Didn't think she could take care of you?"

"I guess she blamed me for my father's arrest?" Another altogether too casual shrug. "That, and I wasn't her favorite kid. So, it really wasn't over money; her own family was loaded, anyway. She took my little sister and moved off to Europe, but gave custody over me up to Sensei Kimora and his wife." She smirked and tugged lightly at his pony tail upon catching the sad, suspicious look gracing his visage. She laughed when he swatted at her hand and shot her a glare tinted with concern. "Stop with the look, already. It was for the best. I had real parents for the first time."

"That's good, anyway," The reaper smirked, and returned the tug to one of the curls hanging down the center of her brow. The smirk evolved into a snicker when she went cross-eyed in order to watch it spring back into shape. This time, it was his hand that was swatted away.

"Ah," they both looked up at the timid voice of the small statured man approaching them, "excuse me?" Once he had their attention, he shifted his weight to his other foot. "Captains Zaraki and Kuchiki would like to see you in the Eleventh Division offices, Abarai-san."

Renji straightened, then stood. "Thank you," he glanced back at his conversation partner, a little disappointed at being cut off. "Guess I'll see you later, Kimora. Maybe we can grab a bite sometime."

A genuine smile lit upon her face, and caused his heart to stumble slightly in his chest. "I'd like that. Take care, Abarai."

Instead of allowing the surprising sensation to shine through, the tattooed reaper instead simply returned the smile devastatingly. It may have been his imagination, but he liked to think he caught a catch in her breathing just before he turned away.

* * *

**I was tempted to turn this into two chapters as I was editting this, but decided I was too lazy to repost all of the chapters before I was done editting them as well. So...hope you enjoyed the longness!**


	8. Chapter 8

Sousuke Aizen, like the rest of the Seireitei, had been exceptionally curious about the mysterious newcomer.

That interest, however, was eclipsed by suspicion. The timing of her appearance just happened to coincide with some very promising developments in a few of his personal side projects. That combined with the unhealthy interest Central 46 had taken in her brought certain urgency to the already strong desire to learn more about this particular intruder. It was almost as if she had been intentionally summoned to throw unneeded difficulties into his research.

He was grateful, then, for the excuse of visiting an injured member of his squad in the Fourth's barracks. Word had reached him of her current residence there just before an unfortunate unseated officer was admitted for treatment from injuries sustained during a kidou exercise gone wrong.

As luck would have it, the object of his contemplation knelt in the garden he was strolling past on his way out of the grounds.

Sunlight glinted like spun fire off of the braid woven down along the curve of her spine. The rich red stood out strikingly against the deep blue of the kimono so elegantly draped over her toned frame. Her right hand, white with bandaging, rested gracefully on an upraised knee, while the unadorned left cupped a delicate purple flower. Escaped curls drifted around an intent face, bright emerald eyes soft, though narrowed with concentration.

The captain retreated a few steps, and then approached her from behind, attended only by complete silence. Light feet came to a rest just to her left, and he bent slightly at the waist to peer at the herb she was examining. "Lovely little plant, isn't it?" He smiled kindly when emerald eyes flashed to his at the unexpectedness of his quiet voice.

"Oh!" She pressed her bandaged hand to her chest even as her lips formed the syllable. "You startled me." Her bare hand lightly accepted his offer for assistance in standing; a slightly flustered grin upon her lips. "Yes, it is. The gardens around here are wonderful." Her voice, while gentle, still held a rough edge to it. It sounded as if damage had been done due to extreme overuse of some sort.

Screaming, most likely. He was very familiar with the injury that those irrepressible wails of anguish could grant. Whatever had prompted her to rip her vocal cords like that had to have been truly unbearable. From the ease with which the woman took his hand, no doubt out of some deeply ingrained social protocol, however, it was safe to assume that her throat was the only lasting casualty of the unknown event.

Judging by the natural ebb and flow of the reiatsu pulsing at the tips of his probing feelers, there was no real need to keep her in medical custody, either. The flavor of her spirit energy was very interesting as well. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was as if she were reaching for something, perhaps without fully realizing it. The further he probed, the brighter her scent was, but as it stretched away from her core, it melded with the surroundings instead of simply fading and thinning out like most other's tended to.

She was something more than human – something less – something just as much. What exactly was the spirit within the fair human form?

With an easygoing chuckle, he nodded, but gave no hint to his true thoughts. "My apologies. That was not my intent." The humble man offered a polite bow, "I am Sousuke Aizen, Captain of the 5th Squad."

She smiled pleasantly, folded her hands primly before her, and bowed in return. "It's a pleasure, Captain Aizen. As you doubtless already know, I am Diana Kimora."

He analyzed her carriage. The shoulders beneath the soft fabric appeared completely relaxed, yet her feet held perfectly balanced stance, as if set for movement at a moment's notice. A warrior at the ready, covered smoothly with the semblance of a flawless lady calmly conversing with a gentleman amidst a flowering garden.

Interesting.

This didn't mesh with what he'd been told by Byakuya Kuchiki, nor by Renji Abarai. What exactly was she hiding?

He allowed the chocolate of his gaze to warm with convincing kindness. "You would be correct, Miss Kimora. You are quite a celebrity of sorts around the Seireitei, you know."

She chuckled deeply in her throat, but continued to maintain eye contact with him instead of glancing away as so many noble women would be wont to do. There was no embarrassment in her voice when she spoke, only simple agreement. "So it would seem." Her smile warmed in reaction to his eyes, "And call me Diana. I've never been fond of formalities."

He inclined his head lightly with acknowledgement. "Then please call me Sousuke, so we are on even ground." He paused, "Diana, your surname does not fit your features. Why is that?"

Graceful shoulders rose and fell in a graceful shrug. "Well, Sousuke, I was adopted by a Japanese family as a child."

"Oh?" He tilted his head, a lock of soft brown drifted charmingly over his glasses, "How did they manage to claim you? It is a bit odd that a goddess of the hunt be captured quite so easily."

Her uninjured hand waved dismissively. "Ah, that is a long story, but not fit for a place as lovely as this." She smirked roguishly, and favored him with a measuring look. "As for the goddess aspect, I make no such claims, though it would appear my name would imply otherwise." She arched a brow, "You know your foreign mythology, don't you." The playfulness in her gaze bled into her tone. "Though, if we were to go strictly by the meanings, would I need to suspect you of something? 'Blue dye' does seem a bit deceptive."

His lips curved with amusement. This young one would be one to watch. "Not at all." Long fingers lightly brushed the length of her upper arm, "Do you not like blue? It suites you nicely."

She glanced down at her attire, and slipped her hands into the wide sleeves, "Thank you. And yes, I do rather enjoy the color, actually." Those bright eyes rose again to his, the edge of teasing softened into something more gentle. "I find it rather soothing, actually. Like the ocean at rest, reflecting a clear summer's sky."

He allowed his hand to slip to the small of her back, palm conforming to the smooth fabric there, and gently steered her along the path. "That is quite the image you paint. Do you write?" From the opening he saw in those gentled features, he knew he'd found a weakness. Perhaps he could play upon that.

Fiery curls brushed his skin with her head shake, just before the hand withdrew from the warmth above her slender obi.

"Not for a number of years, I'm afraid." The soft smile she wore was tinged with a fleeting sadness, before it was replaced with curiosity. "I've the feeling you have the spirit of an intellectual. Do you indulge in pen and paper?"

"Oh, here and there. I've an affection for calligraphy." Words flowed smoothly from his lips – a verbal expression of brush and ink.

"Oh?" A soft breeze ruffled the escaped spirals framing her face, "An art form in and of itself."

An earthen gaze observed her inquisitively from behind modest glasses, "Would you like to learn?"

She chuckled. "Perhaps when my hand is healed a bit more. I doubt I'd have the control for the strokes at the moment. My adoptive mother taught me a little before," she paused slightly awkwardly, "Ah, things changed."

He arched a brow and glanced over at her from the corner of his eye. "Changed how?"

She smiled coyly, "Why, Captain Aizen, you do know there are some mysteries for only women to know, don't you?"

Subtle pink rose to his cheeks, before a smooth, albeit convincingly embarrassed, chuckle left his throat. "Ah, _those_ kinds of changes. Consider me chastised."

It was plain to see she was not telling the entire story. That was fine for now. Time, it appeared, was not as much of a factor as he'd originally thought.

Her hushed, rough laugh echoed his. "So, if I may ask, what brings you to the Fourth Division? You're not injured, I hope."

"Me?" His friendly mouth turned up in a gentle smile, "Oh, not at all. I was simply checking up on a member of my squad. I believe either you or Renji Abarai pulled her free of the rubble from that explosion a week ago." Not true in the least, but he was sure she wouldn't find out about that particular little white lie any more than anyone else currently within the Seireitei.

She grew quiet at that, and the teasing mirth drained abruptly at the memory. "Will she be alright?"

"I believe so. She was injured badly, but our Fourth Squad works wonders, as I'm sure you're now aware." A glance was spared at her before returning again to the serene surroundings.

"Good," jewel toned eyes dropped to the path before them, "I wish we could have saved more of them."

The unassuming shinigami squeezed her shoulder lightly. "You did more than anyone would have expected." Effortlessly, he pitched his tone between reassurance and confidence, "Renji has always had a strong enough heart to do as much good as he could at any cost, even before that particular tragedy."

"Thank you," she spoke softly, and withdrew a hand to press to his in gratitude. "Do you know him?"

"Oh, yes. He was placed in my squad immediately upon graduation from the academy. I was sorry to see him taken by the 11th, but it was for the best." They departed the gate of the garden, and set foot on the main road again. He then turned, and favored her with a fond grin. "I've enjoyed our conversation, Diana, but I am afraid I must return to my division."

The young woman's blushed lips curved in an unconscious mirror of his expression, "As have I. I'm sure we'll have another occasion to chat."

"Oh, I've no doubt of that." With a charming farewell bow, he left her alone at the mouth of the garden they'd so recently vacated.

This inconvenience might just work to his advantage.

**I almost forgot how much **_**fun**_** Aizen is.**

I found a page which lists the names of a great many Bleach characters' names, and hypothoses to those names which didn't have a clear translation. Aizen's name combines "ai", which is apparently blue, with "zen" which can mean dye. It even said so in my lil' Japanese/English dictionary when I checked to back up the data, which can have some pretty interesting implications.

So...yes,interesting.

And geeky. But that's ok!

**Page would be – http : // community (dot) livejournal (dot) com/soul_society/330097 (dot) html**

**Except, y'know…without the spaces and periods in the places of the (dot)s**


	9. Chapter 9

They both bore inken hair and rank of captain. Both men carried immense power within them - power controlled in the way only the mighty can. That, however, was where their similarities ended.

One was birthed from the darkest corner of the Rukongai – etched from the hardest of stone, and bestowed with a fierce love of the fight. Battle – the most dynamic expression of life, of survival, of growth, of destruction. A man who wore his heart upon his shoulder.

The other emerged from one of the most powerful aristocratic families in the Soul Society – carved of faultless marble, and gifted with deadly grace tempered by a razor sharp determination. He protected his heart within folds upon folds of refined walls.

Differences out glaring their subtle similarities, Captains Kuchiki and Zaraki sat in the seldom used meeting hall of the Eleventh Division. Lieutenant Momo Hinamori of the Fifth Division was the odd one out.

Small and mousy, her strength was hidden behind a kind and soft-spoken exterior. Her beginnings were humble, but not desolate. Her childhood was difficult, but not wrought with the stresses of nobility. Her heart, she wore on her sleeve. Darkly blazing resolve was the gem she hid from the world.

Sunlight filtered through wispy motes of dust still settling from a quick cleaning at the hand of a lower ranked officers prior to Kuchiki's arrival. A gentle breeze drifting through the open windows eased some of the musty odor which lingered on.

The captain of the sixth wasn't particularly fond of these particular grounds. True to the division's reputation, there was no kind of decoration and little by way of refinement to the buildings' interiors, despite having a fifth seat obsessed with the linked topics. Long, disused hallways stretched to either the bright outside or the indoor training hall reserved for sparring matches or training sessions when the weather was too dangerous for even that tough squad to run drills in.

The noble suppressed a sigh.

Hopefully, Abarai would arrive soon and he would be free to return to investigations he's conducting - both the official and personal. Byakuya didn't particularly relish interacting with Zaraki on any level outside of work, and while Hinamori was without a doubt a sweet girl, she held no particular interest for him, either.

Kenpachi seemed completely oblivious to the slightly uncomfortable silence, but he could easily see Momo's discomfort by how her hands shifted in her lap, and her eyes flickering nervously between the two. At least she wasn't attempting conversation.

All three sets of eyes finally turned to the doorway when a black clad, spike-haired figure darkened the threshold.

"'Bout time ya showed, Abarai," Zaraki rumbled. "Siddown."

Kuchiki watched measuringly as the red-headed reaper sat rigidly down by Hinamori and looked between the two captains with apprehensive curiosity.

The tattooed man had a great deal of potential. The very fact that Renji rose from the same streets his late wife and younger sister had come from spoke volumes of the tattooed shinigami's strength. It was no wonder he'd risen to a seated position in such a short period of time. Captain Kuchiki was surprised he hadn't already made lieutenant, but he knew this man would attain that rank soon enough.

Such matters would need to wait, however. Beyond the necessary process, current matters held more importance at the moment.

"Due to the changes in the situation at hand," Kuchiki's smooth, cool voice filled the chamber, "it has been determined to relieve you of your custodial duties regarding the ryoka, Diana Kimora. Captain Aizen of the Fifth Division has graciously offered quarters within his squad's barracks for the duration of her stay here. In addition," the noble continued with precisely formed syllables. "Momo Hinamori will be assuming duties as her escort."

"Yes, sir," the tattooed man intoned somewhat woodenly. Those reddish eyes had widened infinitesimally, but the man had done well to quickly return his expression to something more neutral.

"That ain't t' say ya can't talk to 'er," Zaraki spoke up roughly. "Since you're probably the one who knows 'er best, yer still allowed." His one exposed eye rested crushingly on the young woman across from him, who appeared even smaller under the beast of a man's scrutiny. "Fill Hinamori in on what ya know about 'er already."

Renji nodded. "Yes, Captain." While his shoulders still held the tension only suitable for a lower ranked officer while surrounded by his betters, a little of the stress had drained at the primitive man's words.

Kenpachi lifted his glare from his sixth, and returned it to the refined noble at his side. "Anythin' else?"

Unphased, the noble shook his head.

"Right. You'll get yer new orders from Yumichika t'morrow. Get outa here."

Without further ado, Zaraki rose to his feet, cracked his neck – invoking a cringe from Momo – and strode from the room.

It was always nerve wracking meeting with the captain of a different squad. It was even more so when it happened to be that particular captain. Kuchiki had a distinct way of making Renji feel infuriatingly inadequate. Ever since he'd set eyes on the dignified man the fateful day of Rukia's adoption, he'd felt that way. Instead of oppressing him, it only drove him on to do better – to be stronger.

Still, once outside and away from the two captains, both Renji and Momo sighed with relief. It was always a good feeling to let the mask slide away, and allow himself to be just that – Renji Abarai.

After a few moments of contemplative silence, the small woman who'd become a friend over their years together at the academy, then drifted away upon promotion, glanced up at the taller man and a smile to lit upon her face. "It's good seeing you again, Renji. We don't get to talk much anymore."

Brown-red eyes blinked before meeting her velvety gaze. "Yeah, guess we've all been pretty busy, huh?"

That quick twinge in his chest went ignored. It seemed he had a hard time holding onto close friends over the last several years. He had a hard time remembering when he and Kira had last met for drinks. Quietly, he resolved to seek the blond lieutenant out sometime soon.

"Yeah," her voice trailed off as she looked forward again. The girl had always been sensitive to the moods of others, and his was starting to rub off on her. "How are you feeling? I heard you were caught in that explosion."

"Still pretty sore," he frowned and rested a hand on his bandaged arm. The question had served as a potent reminder of the subject of the meeting they'd just left.

He was still trying to come to grips with the captains' decision. Renji supposed it was foolish to think he'd transition from guard to escort so easily. It only made sense, after all. The eleventh wasn't a good place for a woman, regardless of how tough she may be, and she would need another woman to show the feminine ropes. Whatever women needed to know. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to learn just what those were.

Forcefully, he brought his thoughts back to the conversation at hand. "Still haven't heard anything about its cause, though."

"No," she mirrored his frown, "the Twelfth is still analyzing data, and the Sixth and Thirteenth are conducting interviews." She glanced up at him.

A tattooed brow lofted, "Yeah? Geeze, how many people where involved?"

She shrugged, "I honestly don't know, but apparently there were two smaller explosions immediately following the one you were caught in."

"Damn," his gaze dropped to the dusty path before them. "It seems weird, don't it?"

"What does?" Soulful eyes rose to his again.

"Well, the fact they haven't found anything yet. It's been a good week, already," he began slowly, contemplatively. "You'd think they'd at least find something from a bomb, or like, chemical residue or something."

"Yeah…" Her voice was soft, her gentle eyes shadowed with thought.

"Eh?" Abruptly, sharp eyes caught sight of something small and pale as bleached bone flitting at the edge of his field of view. It contrasted sharply against the deep green foliage several feet away, and ran from one bush to another on two spindly legs. He could vaguely make out a big-bellied body and emaciated arms to match the legs, before it disappeared into the branches. Breifly, there was the impression of a pair of sulfurous eyes watching them from a space between the leaves, before those, too, disappeared. The muscular man came to a stop and stared to his left, towards the wooded patch of land.

"…Renji?" Hinamori paused with him, "What is it?" She peered in the direction of his attention.

The tattooed man furrowed his brows, then closed the distance between themselves and the trees in a few ground-eating strides. "Thought I saw something…"

Momo followed at his heels, "What did you see?"

"No idea," he frowned and ventured a few more steps into the foliage, hand resting on the hilt of Zabimaru while he inspected the underbrush for the creature or at least its tracks. "Something little and white."

Hinamori stared warily into the trees for several moments, evidently trying to pick up on reiatsu, just as he was trying to. "I don't sense anything out of the ordinary. Your sure it wasn't just a rabbit or something?"

His small friend was always better with that kind of thing than he was, so he simply shrugged and returned to the grass by the path they were on previously. That most definitely was not a rabbit, but then, his imagination had been known to take over common sense from time to time. "You're probably right."

She smiled sunnily at him once they were again on their way. "So, tell me about Ms Kimora…"

* * *

**Creepy creepers are fun!**


	10. Chapter 10

As tended to happen with chained events such as mysterious explosions and unexpected visitors, periods of uneasy silence fell upon those involved. While anxiety was the general emotion brought forth by these times, they also afforded at least a few hours of peaceful reflection.

The sun was warm upon her back as she knelt in the slowly recovering garden. Rich, black topsoil caressed the scarred and calloused skin of her hands while it was pressed carefully around the roots of the young plant she was placing into the earth. Blue seemed to be the color for her in the Soul Society, as again, she was clad in a kimono dyed deep azure. This one however was made of slightly courser fabric than the one previous. The broad, flowing sleeves were tied up around her shoulders to expose long, sleekly muscled arms.

The wound from Byakuya's blade had finally healed to the point of being strong enough to be able to breath without bandaging – now a raised line of vibrant pink, which ran down her forearm from elbow to fingertips. She'd born those kinds of gashes before, and knew that, with time, it would fade to white, then perhaps lower a little, though probably not much. Higher on that same arm, there was another scar – this one old and slightly warped by the growth of the bearer, but also obviously from a blade. This particular mark was twined with a detailed tattoo of a vine ornamented by tiny thorns, leaves, and ruby roses. The left arm was mostly unscathed, save for twin puckers left by a bullet – one on the triceps where the projectile had entered, and its slightly larger twin upon the bicep where it had made its exit, slightly off center. It had shattered part of the humerus, and barely missed the main artery of the limb.

Battle memories were the last things on her mind, however. She dug another hole in the waiting earth, and reached for a second plant with an already dirt stained hand. The juvenile greenery had only just been slipped from its erstwhile cradle when she sensed a familiar, powerful presence behind her.

Bright green eyes rose to cold grey.

Byakuya Kuchiki stood there, impassive as ever to the casual observer. Upon closer examination, however, the keen observer would notice the subtly arched brow. "What are you doing?"

She grinned up at the noble as she loosened the root-ball, and then turned back to her work. "Helping to fix what I ruined. What are you doing?"

He disregarded her flippant question, noting silently how vividly the braided flame stood out against the deep blue of her robes. "You don't need to."

"Of course not." There was a flash of emerald when she glanced contemplatively over her shoulder before returning to digging a final hole for the last plant. "Doesn't mean I don't want to." Carefully, tenderly, she slipped the greenery from the pot and gently kneaded the root ball into the right consistency, before placing it in its new home. "You could call it an expression of honor. Even if I didn't mean to, I still wrecked your sanctuary. Why shouldn't I try to remedy at least part of the situation?" Her hands were graceful and strong as they finished tucking plant in.

"I see." He caught the rough chuckle his comment elicited from her damaged throat, and watched as she brushed her hands free of loose dirt, gathered the three empty pots and handed them off to the silent assistant gardener who'd appeared before them.

The slender dark man bowed to them both and glanced nervously at the noble towering over them both. He didn't dare meet his superior's eyes, but was obviously relieved to scurry off to the rest of his duties at Kuchiki's dismissive nod.

Byakuya allowed himself to take the young woman's appearance in. She was naturally pale, though not unhealthily so – skin more of a soft pink than a pallid grey. A charming, unexpected sprinkle of freckles fell over her nose and cheeks, unnoticeable at a distance, but evident when examined closely. Despite the scars lacing her exposed arms and the ones her clothing no doubt hid, the skin on her face was clear. "How long have you been working out here?"

A dirty hand brushed its back across her sweat dampened forehead, leaving a small trail of black over the soft skin there. "A few hours." She glanced around. "The place is coming together..."

He nodded, then abruptly turned towards the house. "Indeed it is. Come."

Confusion blanked her face, before she caught up with his lengthy stride. "Where are we going?"

"To clean you up." His voice was calm, though commanding as ever. This time, however, the omnipresent edge was dulled.

Another pause, before her rough voice spoke dryly, "Why, Byakuya, I had _no_ idea."

He blinked, then looked curiously at her out of the corner of his eye. "Excuse me?"

"You want to 'clean me up', hm?" A fair brow arched, coral lips curved in a wickedly entertained grin.

"You will clean yourself up." The unreadable expression softened minutely due to a slight upward curve of his mouth. "I'm simply providing the facilities."

She snapped her fingers in pseudo disappointment. "Way to get a girl's hopes up," there was only teasing mirth in her tone. Diana highly doubted she'd turn aside his attentions, in the unlikely event they be offered, though. If she were honest with herself, a certain tattooed man drew her more than the authoritative man before her. She shook her head and shoved the inappropriate thoughts away in favor of observing the structure they stepped in to.

He paused with her once they'd removed their sandals, and quirked a brow at the way she was gazing down the long hallway. The floors were gleaming hardwood, as they should be. "Is something wrong?"

"Not at all. I'm just wondering about something." An impish grin lit suddenly upon her visage.

Byakuya had the feeling he was going to regret the next question, but morbid curiosity spurred him on. "Oh? And what is that?"

"Ok, less of an uncertainty, more of an image in my head." Tapered fingers laced together at the back of her head as she glanced up at him. "Captain Kuchiki, did you ever slide down these hallways in your stocking feet as a child?"

His eyes widened slightly at the thought, "Of course not. Why would I do such a foolish thing?" Even for a child, such behavior was frowned upon, regardless of the fact it went on when the adults were paying no attention.

It was really just the beginnings of shunpo. At least that's what the adult standing in that polished hallway told himself silently. He carefully ignored the snicker from Senbonsakura in the back of his head.

"I don't believe you." She smirked slowly as she examined the storm cloud grey of his gaze. "I bet you did it all the time."

He cleared his throat and gathered his dignity around him like a cloak. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You're protesting too much." That smile broadened and sharpened. "Hey, I bet you did it just last week."

Byakuya suddenly found himself wondering why he'd invited this puckish creature into his home. "Don't be silly." He did, however, pause. "Alright. You're correct, but it only happened once. Perhapse twice." His gaze was unwavering as he began down the cause of their conversation.

"Last week?" Her arms fell to her sides and she glanced mischievously up at him as she kept pace. "Feel up to it now?"

"No, not last week." He clamped a graceful hand upon her sun warmed shoulder, and shook his head slightly at the gruff laugh which lifted itself from the ill-treated throat in response. "And no, not now." Nevertheless, a traitorous grin did lift the corners of his mouth at the woman's foolishness.

"Such a shame." The braid rustled softly as it brushed against the fabric upon her back.

"Oh?" The Kuchiki again glanced down at the woman by his side. "Why is that?"

Humor drained unexpectedly from her demeanor, leaving a somber, somehow regal expression in its place. "I've always thought those things were a great expression of joy." Wistful jade met polished river rock. "The feeling of freedom, no matter how brief, always brought me out of whatever slump worries put me in."

"So, it's something you did as a child." Intrigued, he watched her move as they strode smoothly down the impeccable hallway.

"Once or twice," she smirked up at him and shrugged elegantly. "I get the feeling that sort of thing was just as taboo for you as it was for me." She faced forward again, "Too far below our social stations."

An ebon brow lifted, "I wasn't aware America had nobility."

"Not in the same sense as here, no." She clasped her hands before her. How he knew of her nationality was beyond her, but these people seemed to know a lot that they really shouldn't. "At least in my world. I don't know if your Earth is like mine, but where I came from, the more money you had, the higher your status and the more power you had. So, our upbringings were probably pretty similar, anyway - dry parties to be shown off at, learning who to bow or curtsy to, how to laugh politely at some stupid joke if told by the right person, reaching up to be the perfect adult in a perfect child's body. Heaven forbid if you didn't succeed, hm?"

It rang a great, gonging bell within him, but he refused to allow the sadness of a childhood lost pierce his calm mask. That sort of emotion was just as taboo as youthful joy. "It doesn't sound as if you particularly enjoyed it."

"Not really." Again, she shrugged, then glanced up at the dark haired man. "Did you?"

He mirrored her shrug. "It was my duty. It still is."

The red-head paused and took his wrist, before she turned to face him fully. "Is it what you wanted, though?"

He frowned, and cool contemplation met warm curiosity. "What I want does not matter when it comes to my responsibility."

"True, but what of your life?" Fiery curls fell into emerald with her head tilt. "Your happiness?"

"I am the head of the Kuchiki family, a captain of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads." Hisana's beautiful, tragic face floated to his mind's eye. Easily, he removed his wrist from her relaxed grip. "What else would I want?"

A wan smile subtly curved the red-head's lips, but her eyes remained somber. "Heh," she let her hand fall to her side. "I think you already know the answer to that. I can see the sorrow in your eyes." She shook her head and held a hand out in invitation for him to resume the lead. "I guess that song holds a lot of truth."

"And what song is that?" Byakuya resumed his stride as he spoke.

"An old one, classic rock from before I was taken," her smile was sad. "'You can't get what you want, but if you try, you'll get what you need.'"

He smirked. "Wise words indeed." Without further comment, he led the rest of the way to the private bath house.

* * *

**I love the image of Byakuya sliding down the hallway so very much. XD I can just see him stopping dead in his tracks - looking left, then looking right and taking a running start before sliiiiiiiiding! "Weeeeeeee!"SO diginified.**

**If anyone's wondering, the song Di quoted is by the Rolling Stones, You Can't Always Get What You Want.**


	11. Chapter 11

The baths had been luxurious, and oh so tempting to wallow in for almost everyone lucky enough to have use of them. Indeed, the heat of the water felt wonderful as it seeped into the long-suffering muscle lining her frame, but she was not comfortable in lingering any longer than necessary.

Diana knew acutely that she was now a guest, and Byakuya's generous offer for her to use the bath prompted curiosity to rise within her core. True, gardening under a warm sun was hardly clean business, but she hadn't thought she was in need of a full bath.

That mattered little. Her host had requested she bathe, and it had seemed to be a violation of social protocol to refuse.

Scarred hands smoothed themselves over hair turned dark red and slicked straight with moisture as she emerged from the cool rinsing pool. The slightly uneven ends reached her hips when wet, and obscured the black ink etched into glistening skin over the graceful curve that was her mid and lower back.

When she swept the sodden crimson over a bare shoulder, that ink gave form to a tattooed dragon coiled and snarling soundlessly from her firm flesh. Worked into the tribal artwork where old, raised scars – their telltale scatter telling of a whip's cruelty meeting pale skin before needle could. The unknown artist had used them to add texture between the etchings. Much like the woman who bore the creature, the picture was still incomplete. The wings ended before the tips could circle her ribs, and the tail stopped at the curve of her left hip, before it could taper to its eventual finale upon the muscular swell of her thigh.

She was alone in the chamber, having gently dismissed the servants who'd offered their help.

Gratefully, she pulled a soft towel around herself, covering the ink and multitude of scars coating her torso. In all honesty, the young woman preferred not to look at evidence of battles past. It wasn't fear that turned her vision from her own body, but rather an intense sadness she did not wish to linger within. There was a time and place for such things. This time and this place were neither.

Emerald eyes fell upon the neatly folded clothing awaiting her in the small changing room attached to the baths. As with the rest of the Kuchiki manor, this small room spoke of simple, understated elegance, while still possessing efficient functionality.

A soft chuckle lifted from her damaged throat as she lifted the rugged white jacket of the gi, and she shook her head.

It's been _years_ since she's worn one of these. With a reminiscent smile, she dressed.

Byakuya was waiting for her when she emerged from the changing room upon donning the black hakama and white gi. Her hair was again pulled into a tight braid, "Thank you for the bath." She bowed formally, before she allowed the amused sparkle to alight within her eyes. "So, Captain Kuchiki, are we sparring, now?"

A refined brow quirked lightly, and if she didn't know any better, she would have sworn an amused light entered his eyes as well. "Not quite." The noble turned and strode along the hallway. He trusted the strange woman to follow his lead. "A small demonstration of your powers, however, would be appreciated, however."

She blinked, and then moved with him into the light beyond the doorway. "Ah, ok?"

The dark-haired captain only led on silently from that point on. The gravel was nearly silent under their wajari. A soft breeze caressed their skin as they moved smoothly along the path.

In short order, they reached a small, private sparring ground comprised of bare earth smoothed into a perfect square. Standing along the border, there were three men and a woman – all clad in black shihakusho and white haori.

Of course, the man to the far right sported a straw hat and pink flowered haori in addition to the uniform of his rank. Shunsui shot her a dashing grin from the shelter of the sakkat upon her entrance with the stoic noble, prompting a soft, graveled chuckle from her throat. A curled lock of rich chestnut hair escaped from the longer tail at the nape of his neck to compliment his rakish facial features.

To his left stood an unfamiliar man. The gentle man's silken white hair flowed over his shoulders like a fall of water. His handsome face, however, was pallid with oncoming illness, and the kind brown eyes under startlingly dark brows showed the start of bruised circles underneath them. Despite his obviously failing health, he favored her with a heart rending smile when the brilliance of her eyes passed over him. Without thinking about it, she found herself returning the soft smile, and a light blush rising to her cheeks.

On the white-haired captain's left stood Captain Unohana. Her hands where folded easily before her, just below the soft tips of the ebon braid cascading down her chest. The hairstyle had struck Diana as odd from the first time she saw the master healer, especially considering the nature of her work, but the beautiful woman wore it with ease. Her mouth was set in a serene smile, and her fathomless eyes held the brightness of Diana's for several moments when their gazes met.

When her attention was finally released, for Retsu Unohana's understated power allowed no opposition, her gaze finally rested on the deceptively frail looking man on the Captain of the Fourth's left. Captain Commander Yamamoto stepped forward, and rested his gnarled hands upon the ever-present staff. "Thank you for the invitation, Captain Kuchiki. And it is good to see you well, Miss Kimora."

Captain Kuchiki merely nodded, while Diana bowed lightly, and favored the bearded man with a small smile. "Thank you, sir."

The elder nodded and turned aside. "I believe you already know Captain Unohana and Captain Kyoraku. Between them is Jyushiro Ukitake, Captain of the Thirteenth squad."

Once they'd exchanged bows, and the obligatory "It's a pleasure"s, the Captain Commander spoke up again. "I assume Captain Kuchiki informed you of the purpose of this gathering?"

Again, she nodded. "Yes, sir, he did." Without further preamble, she frowned lightly, and held her hands out to summon her blade.

Golden stars shimmered over the calloused palms before convalescing into a flash of sunlight. Once the brilliance faded, her sword, sheathed in its cherry wood scabbard, rested upon her palms. The only audible reaction from the watching officers was a low whistle from Shunsui.

Jewel-like eyes rose to the captains who watched her so very intently. The woman without a home took a step towards the captain commander first, and offered him the blade to examine with a slight bow. When it was placed reverently back in her hands, she offered it to Captain Kuchiki, who examined it briefly before again returning it to her. She moved on to the Captain of the Fourth.

Diana began her explanation, her ruined voice quiet as she spoke. "I was united with this blade when I was first taken from the world I was born to. I stopped trying to count the years quite a while ago, but I believe that had to have been about six or seven years ago, now, if not more. As Captain Kuchiki has probably already told you, I can move between worlds by cutting a doorway into the next one."

She smirked slightly in the noble's direction, before accepting the blade back from Captain Unohana, and offering it to Captain Ukitake to examine.

"That's not the only power, but it is the hardest one to control, and it takes the deepest toll on me when I need to use it." Her gravelled voice continued matter of factly. This was another speech she'd given time and again. "The stones on the hilt are the trigger to its power, from what I've learned so far. Each one corresponds to a different element. Amethyst for spirit, ruby for fire, sapphire for water, emerald for earth, yellow topaz for air."

"You have control over them all?" Ukitake queried at her pause, respectfully setting the blade back in the strong, scarred hands, and met her eyes. His voice was soft, though a slight rasp from deep within his chest plagued him as he spoke.

"To one degree or another, yes," she gave him a concerned look at the subtle rattle as he breathed, then nodded slightly when he waved her on to Shunsui. "To be honest, most of my training has been on the battle field, so my knowledge is far from complete when it comes to the energetic workings behind it. From what little I have been able to figure out, the stronger the elements in my surroundings, the more easily I can control them through my sword."

"And which elements do you feel most strongly here?" Captain Kyoraku asked this time as he returned the weapon.

"Mm," she slid the sheath into the belt of her hakama at her left, and skillfully drew the blade. The steel glinted brightly in the sunshine. The warrioress gripped the hilt with the long familiarity of a master. "Spirit and air." Verdant eyes closed as she concentrated. "Then water, fire, and lastly, earth." A soft breath, brows were furrowed as she sifted through the information which flowed into her consiousness through her blade's link with the world around her.

"What are you feeling?" Byakuya's smooth, impassive tone broke her light trance.

Diana cleared her throat lightly and held the sword at her side in her right hand. "Oh…just getting a hang of this place." She smiled a little sheepishly. "I can also sense different properties of each world. It's odd, but…there's more resonance in this place than the other worlds I've traveled through so far." The young woman shrugged. "To be perfectly honest, I don't completely understand it myself." A shrewd grin curled her lips, and her gaze passed between Yamamoto, Unohana, Ukitake and Kyoraku. "I'm also in the presence of a number of people with a strong connection to elements as well, aren't I."

Shunsui chuckled and tipped his hat to her. "Very perceptive, Diana."

"Thank you." She shifted her stance subtly. "So…ah…how exactly did you want me to demonstrate?"

The eldest stepped back in line with the other three, and transferred his gaze to Byakuya.

Senbonsakura drew free of his sheath.

"You did mention a spar, after all," was the Kuchiki's only comment, as he took his stance before the red-haired woman.

She grinned slowly and sank into her own position. "We were rather rudely interrupted before, weren't we?"

His blade rushed at her in reply, and the sound of metal clashing upon metal rang through the air.

Gracefully, she angled her steel to slide his away from hers, and slid to the left, allowing his momentum to carry him away from her. Before she could blink, however, his zanpakto was again aiming for her throat.

Before it could reach flesh, however, wind picked up, and she was gone. The air spiraled around the noble captain, tugging playfully at his hair and clothing, before she solidified directly in front of him, sword angled at his ribs.

Stormy eyes widened slightly, before he leapt back in time to avoid the blow. "Air?"

"Yes," she laughed roughly and dashed in at him, bright green eyes sparkling in the sunbeams, blade glinting silver in nature's light.

The gleaming sword didn't come close to hitting its mark, however. Shunpo carried him behind her, and his blade opened a long slit in the back of her gi, before reiatsu warped around him, and her ethereal form appeared before him, an icy, slender hand pressed to the soft skin of his throat through the layer of his scarf.

Wracking coughing from the sideline drew their mutual attention.

Diana withdrew her hand from the noble's flesh and grew solid again at the sight of Ukitake doubled over on one knee, otherwise strong shoulders shaking with the violent hacking. Red stained his hand when he slumped to the side, unconscious.

Sharp grey-blue eyes caught sight of something vanishing into the green over the white-haired captain's shoulder. Something bipedal, with bone white white skin and lanky limbs, had fixated a gaze from bulbus yellow eyes upon Ukitake up until the unfortunate captain's collapse.

It had vanished by the time a surprised Kyoraku and Unohana had whisked their friend off to the Fourth Division mere moments later.

* * *

**Chapter 11 - prettied up!**


	12. Chapter 12

The red-headed reaper leaned back against the long, soft grass gently swaying upon the hill which he and his blonde friend reclined. For the first time in years, they shared a bottle of cheap sake, talked and generally enjoyed each others' company. The sun was warm, the sky a clear summer's blue, and a gentle breeze kept the heat from becoming overwhelming. These were the days to live for.

Hinamori had even joined them briefly before she had to return to her duties.

For that half hour, it had felt just like old times. Just three friends ignoring their differences in favor of a shared joke and a mutual smile or three. Still, Renji couldn't help the smirk plastered cockily over his face. It appeared that some things had changed over the years after all.

"What?" Kira's bemused voice drew his attention from his thoughts.

"Nothing." His grin grew by a fraction.

"Uh huh. I don't buy it." The usually somber man's lips twitched, "Why the grin?"

A narrow eye cracked open just before the tattooed man sat up and caught the half-full bottle flying his way. "I didn't realize there was anything to the rumors." Cool liquid flowed across his tongue, and warmed its way down his throat. He'd stopped noticing the horrid taste quite a while ago. While it was rank tasting stuff, it was still more than strong enough to numb his taste buds and lighten his head nicely before too long.

"Rum-" the lieutenant shook his head, once the meaning sank into his inebriated mind. "Oh. Momo. No, there's nothing to them." The slighter man leaned back into the grasses again.

Was it Renji's imagination, or did his old friend sound disappointed?

An inked brow rose, "Why not?"

Izuru sighed and shrugged, blue eyes drifting from russet. "Our captains keep us busy."

Lamest excuse he's heard in a while.

"Right," Renji's baritone stretched the word out with his skepticism.

Kira rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle from his friend's lax grip. "What about you and the human girl? Kimora?"

Renji shook his head as his friend downed some more alcohol. "Don't think she's the type to hop in bed with someone she's only known for a month." At least, that's what he kept telling himself to avoid any…embarrassments. "Haven't seen her lately, anyway. Captain Kuchiki's been keeping pretty close tabs on her, last I knew."

The bottle lowered from Izuru's lips, and he watched the rangy red-head for a number of minutes before breaking the knowing silence. "Speaking of the Captain of the Sixth, have you heard about Captain Ukitake?"

Blinking, Abarai shook his head. "What does Captain Kuchiki have to do with Captain Ukitake?" To be honest, before their get together, he'd been losing himself in training. Despite Yumichika's fondness of gossip, Renji hadn't bothered engaging the pretty shinigami in conversation during their spars.

"Apparently," long fingers capped the sake with all the care of a man intent upon getting the most of every drop of alcohol in the vessel. "Ukitake collapsed at the Kuchiki manor the other day."

"Yeah?" That was no real surprise, considering how sickly the man was, but still, everyone seemed to like him. The muscular reaper was no exception. "Is he ok?"

The smaller man shook his head with a frown and passed the drinking vessel back to Renji, "No…he still hasn't regained consciousness. Everyone had thought it was just another one of his attacks, but there're whispers that something drained his reiatsu."

Abarai frowned and repressed the shiver from the chill racing down his spine. "…any clue what?"

Kira shook his head, frowning even deeper. "Nothing concrete. Kimora was apparently there, too. A little odd, considering how close she was to that explosion, too…" He let the sentence end suggestively.

Renji scowled, and continued a little more defensively than he'd intended, "I doubt she had anything t' do with it." He uncapped the bottle and tossed back a swig.

Izuru only shrugged, though the look in his eyes had a distinct smug note to it. The blonde saw that coming miles away. "Probably not…I'm just saying it's odd."

A hazy thought rose in Renji's mind. "Hey…what were Ukitake and Kimora doing at the Kuchiki manor, anyway? Where'd ya hear all this?"

Kira shifted uncomfortably and grabbed the bottle, before he drained the last of the booze. "I don't know what they were doing there. Shunsui told me about it earlier." The soft-spoken man paused and lay back by the red head. "Asked if I'd heard anything about some weird white creature, too…"

Renji blinked into the brilliance of the sky. "Huh?"

"Yeah, I don't know what that's about, either." A pale, calloused hand waved dismissively. "He just said that Captain Kuchiki had seen a white thing after the attack, and…" he trailed off. "I shouldn't be telling you this."

Abarai was now watching his ex-classmate closely. "No, keep going. What did this white thing look like?"

Izuru pushed himself up, sobriety creeping into his previously drunken gaze. "Why? Did you see it?"

"See what?" Chirped Hinamori's familiar voice to their left.

The two men looked over to see three familiar figures approaching from the edge of the populated area of the Rukongai just outside the Seireitei gates.

The scrappy bald man positively towered over the two smaller women he kept pace with.

Sunlight glinted like flickers of flame off of the curls escaping from the braid the woman immediately next to him wore, while that same light reflected tones of mahogany from the smooth tresses framing the sweet face of the smallest of the three. It gleamed blindingly off of his shiny dome, however.

Renji blinked at the unlikely trio, and pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Uh, nothin' important."

Izuru stood respectfully as they approached, followed a little more slowly by Abarai. "Miss Kimora, Third Seat Madarame, Momo.."

The two girls grinned pleasantly and bowed lightly in greeting, Ikkaku just nodded. "Did I hear Abarai mention something about a white thing?"

Without missing a beat, Diana lofted a brow, her budding grin edged with wickedness. "Abarai's thing is white? That can't be healthy."

The sixth seat felt his face growing warm. "...it's not white, and it's _perfectly_ healthy!" He realized a fraction of a second too late what he had just said and groaned. Apparently, his earlier conversation with Izuru hadn't completely left his subconscious just yet.

Ikkaku nodded, and smirked at the woman at his side, never one to miss an opportunity for fun at his friend's expense. "Have you seen it yet?"

The lone human inclined her head towards the third seat, "No, should I have?"

"…Ikkaku…" Abarai's low voice was filled with ignored warning.

The gleam off of his head couldn't match the wicked gleam in Madarame's eyes. "I don't think he'd mind showing you."

"In front of you three?" She shot a grin Kira's way, whose blush rivaled the unfortunate sixth seat's, before glancing back at Renji, "Wow, Abarai, I had no idea you were such an exhibitionist."

"Aargh, guys, knock it off," the unfortunate target rubbed a temple.

"And kinky to boot." Di grinned sharply up at the flushed shinigami.

Hinamori cleared her throat, cheeks pink, but velvety eyes still sparkling with amusement. "…should we leave the two of you alone?"

Exasperated, Renji crossed his arms. "I think I have somewhere else to be." And before any of the four could say anything further, stalked away from them.

Di shared a wince with Kira and Momo, disregarded Ikkaku's barked laugh, and hurried off after the annoyed man.

She broke into a jog before catching up with him, for his legs were longer than hers, and gripped his sleeve upon reaching him. "Hang on a second." She sighed at the sidelong glare he shot her. "I'm sorry; we were just teasing. Everyone seemed so relaxed that I didn't realize you were in such a serious mood."

He frowned and shook his head. "Kira was telling me about what happened at the Kuchiki manor."

The young woman winced and tucked her hands in the wide sleeves of the deep blue kimono she wore. "Oh. Yeah, Captain Ukitake…I hope he'll be ok. He seems like a very nice man."

Renji nodded idly, then stopped and gripped her arm just above the elbow to turn her towards him. "Kira said something about Captain Kuchiki seeing some kinda weird creature right before the collapse."

Puzzled, she nodded. "He did say something about that once the others had taken Captain Ukitake to the Fourth. I didn't see anything when I looked for it with him, though. Why?"

The only sound for a few contemplative moments was of the wind combing through the lush grass tickling at their calves. "I think I saw it, too."

Her breath caught in her throat as she examined the intense look in his eyes. "…that's not good. Did you report it?"

He shook his head. "I didn't think anything of it at the time." He watched the brightness of her eyes shift from him in concerned thought, "I will now, though."

"Yeah…" Kimora breathed a soft sigh.

He lightly squeezed her arm, before releasing it, "You should get back to Momo."

There was a moment where he thought she was going to argue, before she grabbed his hand. "Probably."

Startled, he stumbled slightly when she tugged him towards her. "Hey, what're you –"

"You're coming with me, though." She grinned and turned to haul him back to his two friends – Ikkaku had already left from the looks of it. "I think you need to sober up a little before facing any of the captains. Right now, they'd probably _smell_ you coming long before they actually _saw_ you."

"Hey!" Renji caught himself on another stumble, before finally drawing up by her and turned his hand to grip hers. "I'm not _that_ drunk."

"Are you kidding?" The grin she shot up at him was as sharp as her blade, but her hand didn't withdraw from his. "I'm getting a buzz from your breath alone."

Intoxicated or not, he still took their continued contact as a very good sign.

* * *

**Finally! 12 is done! I had entirely too much fun teasing Renji. I mean, who can resist that?**


	13. Chapter 13

As she waited for her former keeper to finish with his bathing, Diana swept her gaze over the small room she was dropped off in. She honestly didn't mind cooling her heels as he sobered up a little bit, but it afforded a little too much time to reflect on just how nice it felt to have Renji's hand in hers, and just what a bad idea relationships of any kind were for her. When a girl was likely to be swept off into another world at any moment, emotional connections – hormonally influenced or not – were always a bad idea.

Why, then, did she always seem to find herself in precisely that position? Was loneliness really that bad? Why couldn't the ache of the heart be brushed aside as easily as the ache of torn flesh?

The traveler sighed with irritation at herself and shook her head, opting instead to observe the quarters of the man stirring those very questions up once again.

Abarai's quarters really weren't bad for someone of his rank. Small, yes – barely enough space for his sleeping area, a modest wardrobe and an end table, but still high quality enough to offer a decent retreat at night. The blanket neatly folded at the foot of the sleeping mat looked warm enough, the mat itself was inviting enough to provide a good night's sleep, or –

Bright green eyes rose stubbornly from that particular corner to wander the rest of the chamber.

It was surprisingly neat and utilitarian. No mementos were in sight – no pictures, no little gifts. Breifly, she wondered what he was like before he became a soul reaper.

The sudden touch to her shoulder had her stepping hastily away, pivoting on impulse and dropping into an instinctively defensive stance.

There stood the tattooed shinigami. Long, silken strands of deep fire spilled over his broad shoulders and draped teasingly into his handsomely startled, though rather amused, features.

The young woman smiled sheepishly as she relaxed her stance, and then straightened. "Heh, ah…sorry." She rubbed the back of her neck, finding it entirely too hard to look away.

Renji smirked as he brushed passed her. "It's ok. Just relax, Kimora. No one's gonna attack ya here." The smirk grew into a full out grin when he noticed her stare. "What?"

Diana reminded her self to breath. For a slightly panicked second, she wasn't entirely sure she could even remember how. "You…" She cleared her throat lightly, "You should really wear your hair down more often."

He paused, then slowly ran his fingers through his vivid mane. His mouth curved in satisfaction at the slight parting of her lips, the twitch of fingers at her sides and the hasty aversion of eyes. "Oh?" He cleared the distance between the two of them in one swift stride. "And why's that?" He whispered the last as he tilted her chin up to get a look at her slightly flushed cheeks and darkened eyes.

Her heart stuttered in her chest at the dark hunger in his eyes. An electric chill raced down her spine from that light touch of calloused fingers pressed against her chin. Her prior internal questions seemed far less important now than they had only moments before. "Or, on second thought," she murmured softly, "maybe you shouldn't."

He inclined his head and leaned a little closer. It was a fight not to sink into the subtle scent unique to only his former charge, nor the intoxicating forest that was her heated gaze. "Mm?" Lips inches from hers curved with wicked amusement, even as he inhaled her abrupt exhale.

"You'd leave bodies in your wake," she breathed in his scent and shivered at the earthy musk, "of feinted women who saw you." Diana didn't notice the way her broken voice cracked. Her attention was only on the magnetic force drawing them ever closer together, the cool feel of the fabric of his uniform under her hand, and the unyielding muscle of his chest beneath that woven darkness.

His husky chuckle trailed into a soft moan as her body brushed his, and their lips just barely met. That was all the answer either one needed to her statement, and only the tip of something far greater than simple banter.

Before any real pressure could be exerted, however, her head whipped back and a startled cry fell from her mouth. Bright eyes snapped open in surprise and glanced at him before she dropped to a knee to relieve the pressure.

Funny how a kid hanging from one's hair could break the mood.

The bewildered woman blinked when the pink-haired girl vaulted off her shoulder and barreled into Renji's chest.

"Kenny's waiting!" Yachiru exclaimed impatiently, and pulled at the man's hair.

He winced, and set the girl on her feet as Diana stood. "Crap, right." The reaper lost the bemused, slightly irritated, expression and hastily drew his hair back into his customary tail.

"C'mon, Curly," the girl grabbed the woman's hand and tugged her out of the room. "You an' Pineapple Head can play later."

Kimora arched her brows as she trailed after the young lieutenant. "You guys have the Three Stooges here?"

"The what?" The Pink Terror looked up at the woman with wide, mildly confused brown eyes.

"Um, never mind." Di doubted she'd be able to explain the concept of the old show to the child, much less the concept of television in general. Come to think of it, despite all of the technology she'd seen in the Twelfth, she hadn't seen a single TV or radio in her entire time there.

"Good answer," Renji replied with a smirk. Bemused, he followed the two females down the hall.

It didn't take them long to reach the designated waiting room where Captains Zaraki and Kuchiki waited. In fact, it didn't take long at all, considering Yachiru kept 'forgetting' that Diana didn't know shunpo. Of course, the giggle she let loose every time she apologized gave away the game.

As such, the two red-heads appeared moments after the adorable pink terror arrived in the doorway.

Abarai was slightly out of breath, as he wasn't quite as fast as the small lieutenant yet, and his body was still metabolizing that truly nasty sake. Di's sword hung sheathed at her side. She'd needed to make use of the spirit element in order to keep up. As a result, she had to steady herself with a hand upon the doorway upon the abrupt rematerialization.

"Ken-chan! Byakushi! We're here!" the child announced exuberantly.

"Yes," the Kuchiki replied coolly, disregarding the larger captain's guffaw at his side. "We are aware. Thank you." Hard grey eyes settled on the nervous sixth seat as he settled by the foreign woman. "I believe you have something to share with us, Abarai?"

Renji nodded, back straight as a rod. "Yes, sir. Izuru-fukutaicho had mentioned that you had seen something around the time that Ukitake-taicho collapsed." At the affirmative nod, he went on. "I…may have seen something similar the day I was relieved of Kimora-san's guard duty."

An aristocratic brow quirked slightly. "What was it that you saw?"

"I dunno what it was." The red-haired man repressed the urge to shift his weight. "It was quick – something small and white. long skinny arms and legs and big yellow eyes."

The noble's eyes narrowed slightly, "That does sound like what I had witnessed. Why have you said nothing until now?"

"Aw well, I thought I must have seen a …rabbit…or…something." When no one said anything, the former Rukongai dweller rushed on. "Hinamori-fukutaicho had been there too, and she didn't see it or sense anything outa the ordinary, so that's why – " he cut himself off sharply when Byakuya held a hand up.

"Enough, Abarai." Soundlessly, his hand returned to its place on his thigh. "I will bring this to the Captain Commander's attention. However," the cold grey gaze remained upon Abarai's, "Should you see another of these creatures, I expect you to bring it to either my or Captain Zaraki's attention immediately."

Strong muscles up and down the tattooed man's back tightened a bit furter. "Yes, sir."

"Kimora-san," the ordinarily quiet noble continued.

"Ah," the lone woman amongst them straightened a bit at being addressed, and met the stoney grey of Byakuya's gaze. "Yes?"

"I would like you to accompany me to the First Squad once we are finished here." His tone stated just how little argument he was willing to put up with. "There is some unfinished businesses the Captain Commander would like to attend to."

Diana nodded with a small grin. "Of course." At least the meeting would serve as distraction from what was now roiling deep within her belly. That condescending tone, however, wasn't something she was particularly fond of enduring for much longer.

Zaraki sat back and picked his teeth through the last few lines of the conversation, Yachiru perched upon his shoulder, looking just as bored as her unlikely adoptive father. "Yeah, speakin' o' which, was there anythin' else, Byakuya?"

The noble simply shook his head.

"C'mon then, Abarai. Yachiru told me you were slackin' wit' Kimora 'fore the meeting," the grin he wore brought a flush to both red-heads' faces. "Ikkaku'd said somethin' 'bout some kinda trainin' or somethin'. Y' gotta stay sharp if these lil' things're somethin' ta worry about."

Renji glanced at the young woman, their barely-there kiss still vividly in his mind, before returning the look to his captain. "Yes, sir."

At that, Byakuya rose, the others standing as well. As they left, the parting glance between the tattooed reaper and scarred traveler wasn't lost on him in the least.

* * *

**It's been forever and a day since I've put a new chapter up for this! Egads, sorry about that. On the up-side, I did finally make it through all of the existing chapters and re-wrote them, so hopefully, they flow a bit better now.**

**Life's been insane, as usual, so I've had very little writing time. Unfortunately, that means a definate slow-down in any and all updates. I'm still here, chipping away where I can, though. Hope you all enjoyed this installment!  
**


	14. Chapter 14

The little beasts were very similar to hollows in many ways. Only a step or two away, in fact. This particular variety fed upon spirit energy, while the hollow fed upon the souls themselves. Like the adversaries the shinigami fought against, these small creatures were indeed born of twisted ghosts who lingered within the Living World long after the body's death.

Unlike hollows, however, there were innumerable variations to these spirits' appetites. Some hungered for benign things – such as poetry or the smoke of incense, while others hungered for darker things such as blood or pain. He had specifically selected those which fed upon the spirit energy in hopes of using them to pursue another avenue of research toward breaching the wall between shinigami and hollow. Somewhat more troubling, they appeared to be resistant to most zanpakto and kidou.

Sousuke Aizen couldn't be sure of why exactly that was, but he believed that he would discover reason within the next few days.

The Living in Japan called them 'Gaki'. Regardless of their label, the unassuming captain found them to be fascinating beings and saw great potential for their use. Controlling them seemed to be a bit of a problem, however, as the only way he could seem to keep a reign on them was to continue to manipulate them by withholding sustenance in some form or another. He had a theory revolving about the mysterious traveler's use in those matters, however, that bore investigation.

Of course, he had to be careful not to arouse suspicion. That was a concern Aizen was by now used to addressing on a regular basis, though. As such, he had a distinct plan in place.

His faithful lieutenant had informed him of the afternoon's fortunate developments and as a result, he happened to find need to leave his squad's grounds just as the fair newcomer and captain of the Sixth were passing by.

"Captain Kuchiki, Diana," he greeted the two with a friendly smile and easy wave as he smoothly caught up with them. "How are you today?"

The two drew to a halt and turned back to face him when he approached. "Captain Aizen," the noble responded in his usual aloof manner. It was evident that the noble's mind was already on the impending meeting the lowly commoner was not invited to.

Diana, however, smiled warmly to the bespectacled man. This young woman had either not lived in high society long enough to see things quite the way the noble did or she had seen enough to put little value in societal placement. Whichever, her mistake was in regarding him as an equal. "Hey, Souske. Not too bad at all, you?"

"Very well." The Captain of the 5th sent miniscule tendrils of energy out to summon his pets a bit closer to the pathway.

He was confident in the hypnosis he had the Kuchiki under thanks to Kyouka Suigetsu's talents, and even more so in Diana's surprisingly limited talent in reishi detection. For all of her training in the military arts and mysterious powers, her third eye appeared to be squeezed tightly closed. Perhaps this was nothing more than a defense mechanism against the trauma she had evidently suffered over the years. Perhaps she was simply naturally disinclined to opening herself up to what she had no way of understanding. Little matter – there will be plenty of time to puzzle the young woman out later.

Subtly, he edged the other two closer to the side of the path by picking up a slow stroll down the path. "Lovely day for a walk."

"Indeed. However-" Byakuya's calm tone cut off when he noticed that Diana had again paused and was now looking intently into the foliage, bright eyes narrowed. "Kimora, what is it?"

"Byakuya, is that what you and Renji saw?" The young woman asked in a hushed tone when the two men drew up beside her still form.

There in the leafy bushes, a yellow-eyed creature stared right back at them. It stood about three feet tall now, and its gangly limbs were laced with long, lean muscle. The sulfuric gaze flickered between the three as it shied tauntingly back into the greenery.

Interesting. This was either the spirit that had fed so well on the ill captain, or one of the few who had feasted upon the casualties of his carefully planned explosions. Ordinarily, they were the size of a rabbit, perhaps a little bigger. He had no idea they would grow quite so nicely with a little quality sustenance. Perhaps he needed to limit their intake before they surpassed his control.

Aizen frowned and took a wary step towards the vampiric beast, withdrawing the tendril of energy it was attempting to latch on to. "Easy," he intoned soothingly and held a relaxed hand out towards it as it inched closer. "We won't hurt you."

"Sousuke," the woman at his side murmured warningly as her scarred hand closed on his free wrist.

"It's alright, Diana" Gently, he dislodged his hand from her grip and offered her a small, confident grin. Sunlight glinted off the lenses of his glasses when he inclined his head slightly towards her. "I know just what I'm doing." Slowly, he continued to the tree line.

Indeed – he knew exactly what he was doing.

Cautiously, the creature shuffled forward. It lifted a spindly arm, lean muscle shifting under white, waxy skin. Its hand was long fingered – the joints bulging obscenely from impossible stretches of slender bone. Sharp, yellowed nails lined with a green so dark it may as well be black tipped each grotesque digit.

As soon as the shinigami's hand was in range, it grabbed him by the wrist and yanked the captain into the foliage. Dimly he heard the ring of Senbonsakura's steel as it was unsheathed, and felt the otherworldly shiver of power stored so deeply within Kimora as her blade was summoned and bared. Two smaller creatures popped out of nowhere and helped their brethren pull the man out of sight with impossible speed.

* * *

Byakuya and Diana had lunged as one at the disturbing pasty-skinned creatures as soon as they'd appeared. He heard a very heartfelt curse in what must have been English when both of their blades fell infuriatingly short of their marks.

He didn't spare a moment to wonder just how the beasts had moved faster than they, instead opting to disappear into the foliage via shunpo in the direction of the sounds of a struggling Aizen. Behind him, he sensed the shift of energy as Diana slipped into her thus far favored air form to keep up.

Again, the beasts left no trace of reiatsu behind them. When they were there before of him, he sensed nothing but a vague sensation of vacuum. Up to this point, no one that he knew had been around them long enough to get a real feel for them.

In silence, he flashed between the trees, the individual leaves blurring as he passed each bit of plant life by. The small animals inhabiting the area fled – not because of his physical presence, but because of the power he carried with him as he passed.

Within minutes he came across the clearing where a badly bleeding Aizen was batting away creature after creature with a blade coated in a viscous grey fluid. A moment later, Captain Kuchiki realized that it was the blood flowing through each fiend's veins. His clothing and hair stirred when Diana materialized at his side with a gust of sweetly scented forest air.

Without hesitation, he held his zanpakto up before him and intoned, "Chire, Senbonsakura." The sword dissolved into millions of miniscule blades which flickered with a deceptive pink gleam.

As the other captain fell to his knees, Senbonsakura's deadly shower curved around the flagging shinigami, bound for the creatures harrying him. Byakuya's cold eyes widened when his shikai was only able to pass within millimeters of the creature before the bulk of it simply flowed past, and he felt his reiatsu levels drop as soon as the first tiny blade finally permeated the strange field to kiss waxy flesh. Swiftly, he sealed his blade and lunged at the creature diving in at the fallen Aizen.

The white thing fell in two pieces at his feet, and he quickly deflected another coming in from their right. However, he stumbled when his energy dropped even further when a third rent filthy claws through both muscular flesh of his thigh and fabric of his hakama alike before he could spear it with his blade.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Diana beating two of the things back as well, vibrant crimson flowed from an injury along her ribs exposed through a long tear along the side of the kimono she wore. Just as she yanked her blade free of the sickening white body she had just impaled, her brilliant eyes met his, then flashed to a point just above his head.

"Byakuya!"

He barely heard her warning as his gaze snapped up straight up.

The larger beast from before was dropping from the tree directly above him.

Calmly, he held out an elegant hand, and incanted, "Byakurai."

The blue-white power shot from his palm, and for a moment he lost sight of the creature to the brightness of the kidou. Splinters of wood and leaves showered down upon him a second later. The dying sunlight, however, was obstructed by a very much alive, much bigger, monster descending upon him.

Dizziness shook him to the core, while the accursed beast only showed rows of jagged orange teeth in a disgustingly self satisfied smile.

* * *

**I _know_! Two updates on the same story in the same week? Hell's hockey team must be doing spledidly.**

**I borrowed the concept of a gaki from Japanese mythology. 'Course the gaki myth is a bit more benign from my version, but it sure does offer some good food for the imagination, doesn't it?**

**I can't help but wonder if Tite Kubo based the hollow concept off of it, at least in part. They are both "hungry ghosts", after all.**

**Enjoy! Don't be afraid to drop a comment here or there.**


	15. Chapter 15

The thing's rank breath brushed over his perfect cheek when he stepped away from the inhuman body seeking contact with its prey. Instead of hitting its intended target, it landed on all fours in front of the noble. The fact of its miss did not seem to discourage the creature, however. Grinning ever more broadly, it tensed to lunge once again.

Byakuya's body felt impossibly heavy – the weight of Senbonsakura in his hand nearly unbearable. Physical limitation was no challenge to his insurmountable willpower, though. Against his body's protests, he lifted the blade in preparation to block the creature's next attack, and braced himself for the blow.

Instead, a bone vibrating roar filled the air, and the ground shifted under his feet. On instinct, he leapt back. In silent awe, he found himself staring suddenly at a wall of rock as it shoved itself from the very earth itself. Loose soil showered down upon the surprised shinigami.

"Hey!" A low, grating voice called from his right.

Grey eyes tinged with blue shifted over to the source of the harsh tone.

There stood a living sculpture of the mysterious newcomer – her arm raised in his direction, her gore covered blade held in her other hand. The granite shivered, as if it were flesh and blood holding up an immense weight. "Diana?" He uttered in disbelief.

The breathing statue smiled. "If this's what it takes to get you to use my first name, then maybe we should get attacked more often." Before he could reply, however, she rumbled on. "Can you get Sousuke over here? I can get us out of here."

The captain heard the strain in her warped voice and acted without question. While his body still felt as if it weighed about fifty times more than it should, he did manage to pull one of Aizen's arms over his shoulders and half-carry him over to the straining woman.

Kimora lowered the hand that had been outstretched towards the huge mound of earth and rested it on his shoulder instead.

The dense stone of her touch vanished in favor of his breath tearing from his lungs when a vortex of wind that was somehow Diana enfolded the two injured shinigami within its fierce embrace.

"Byakuya," a breathy murmur rose from around them and penetrated the very pores of his skin. "Do you know these woods? I can't transport us far."

"No." Unfortunately, Aizen was dead weight in his arms, so the Captain of the Fifth would be no help there.

A sigh whispered through the currents of air. "Alright – we just need a place to rest for the night, then."

Their feet left the ground – lifted by the strangely gentle tempest.

The captains didn't rise particularly far above the ground, only a little below the underside of the canopy.

Frowning slightly, Kuchiki held Aizen a little closer. "Kimora, is this as high as you can take us?"

He felt himself fall slightly before he was again stabilized. "Yes," the light voice was again strained. "No talking."

Diana was at her limit, or at least close. He could see that clearly, so he remained silent and watched for an ideal place to recuperate. As they cut through the air within her immaterial hold, he suppressed what reiatsu he had left. From the way the creatures had behaved in their battle, he was sure that was why they tracked the shinigami. They hungered for the spectral guardians' life energy.

The thought sent carefully concealed chills racing down his spine.

Soon, they began to descend into a small clearing bordered by a cliff. Breezy little eddies stirred his hair and clothing as the gradually fell from the sky. As gently as he could, he lay their bloodied comrade down, and then turned to catch Diana when she once again became solid at his side.

The pale green kimono she wore was now a deep crimson down her left side – thoroughly saturated with blood. As soon as she was fully flesh again, her eyes closed and her knees gave. Byakuya caught her before she hit the ground and held her steady with one arm looped around her shoulders, cradeling her against his torso as he knelt with her. Elegant, battle-stained fingers took hold of the soft material folded over her chest and began pulling it back to get a look at the wounds beneath.

Weakly, she gripped his wrist. "Why, Byakuya…" Bright eyes slowly opened, and a slow grin spread over her pale face. "I…thought you were more of a gentleman than that."

Unamused, the noble leader simply shook his head and withdrew his hand, supporting her as she slowly sat up under her own power. He could feel her trembling as she moved. "You shouldn't move just yet."

"I'm ok." Her hand pressed against his upraised knee as she pulled away from him. Diana cringed and held her side, though her eyes fell to his wounded thigh. "We're pretty banged up, huh?" She then looked around the clearing and slowly stood.

"Indeed." He shrugged off his haori, and then carefully removed Aizen's. First and foremost, they all needed bandaging, and their resources were very limited. Without their wounds at least bound they had little hope of surviving the night. As it was, Byakuya knew that it would be difficult for either of them to gather kindling for a humble fire – much less hunt down dinner – while so weak and injured.

There was no chance of returning to the main body of the Seireitei any time soon. Neither he nor Diana knew these grounds well at all, and the only one who might know the way back lay unconscious at their side. Silently, he apologized to Senbonsakura for being used for such a mundane task as he cut the two stained garments into strips with the blade. What choice did he have?

Calmly, he looked over at Diana as she knelt over Aizen. "Kimora, come here. You need your wounds treated before they become any worse."

Startled, she glanced over her shoulder at him. "But Sousuke's…"

Of course the woman would choose now to protest. "Is he still breathing?"

Frowning, she turned back to Aizen's unconscious form. "Well, yes…"

"And the blood flow?" The tone harbored no room for argument.

"Mostly stopped, but…"

"Then come here," he quirked a brow, "Unless you would like me to get you."

Smirking, she straightened slowly, and turned to face him. "I'd like to see you try."

Wordlessly, he took hold of her sleeve and pulled her down in front of him. "Let me see your side."

Diana winced when he pulled her hand away the injury over her ribs, and tugged the kimono she wore aside to reveal the throbbing wound.

Byakuya paused only briefly at the circular set of scars revealed on the right side of her defined belly. Easily, he recognized them as very old burns. They extended from just over the simple obi at her waist to under the cloth she used to bind her breasts. They may have been perfect semi-circles at one point, but they had elongated and thinned with the woman's growth. Frowning lightly, he turned his attention to cleaning the newest gashes etched roughly into skin and muscle. Byakuya was very aware of the woman's contemplation of him while he worked. Without a word, he eased the kimono down the rest of the way over her shoulders in order to better wrap the strips of fabric around her torso.

As the ruined cloth settled in a gentle drape over the thin obi she wore, it dawned on him that this was the first time in a very long time that he'd disrobed a woman for any reason. That had been before his Hisana passed. That time had been the act of a loving husband catering to his dying wife for one sweet night before her body began its final struggle.

Iron resolve stopped his eyes from wandering, and his lips from trembling at remembered emotion. There was no missing the unfinished dragon etched into her back, nor the multitude of scars etching their story into the skin covering her toned figure, though. This young woman had known a great deal of pain as well. Perhaps it was not of the same flavor, but he easily read loneliness in the irregular lines resulting from self stitching and an enduring spirit persevering through the cruel lashes of whips.

In silence, Byakuya finished his task and struggled to ignore the base instinct brought on by the bared woman under his care. He was noble, a captain and bound by loyalty to his late wife. Those facts were more than enough reason to refuse the whims of a rebellious body. Purposely cold eyes cast their attention elsewhere once he tied the final needed strip of makeshift bandaging.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly as she gingerly shrugged back into her kimono. "Now, your leg."

The noble shook his head and shifted closer to Aizen, pushing the fabric of the other man's shihakusho back from his chest. "It can wait." At least until the memory of her skin under his hands faded a bit more. "Assist me with him."

Surprisingly, she knelt by the two without comment and helped push the stained fabric back over the unconscious captain's shoulders while Byakuya held him steady.

Perhaps they had reached an unspoken understanding – the stoic noble and the eternal wayfarer.


End file.
